What Happens in Budapest, Stays in Budapest
by crazypony37
Summary: After too many cover ups and fake stories, Tony has finally decided to take matters into his own hands. In an attempt to discover the truth behind the enigma that is the "Budapest Trip," Tony and Clint get caught up in a nefarious plot without their equipment. Can the two Avenger's stop bickering long enough to get their act together and escape Budapest?
1. Chapter 1: The Flight

**Chapter One: The Flight**

"Tony seriously, where are we going?"

A none-too-pleased Clint Barton asked this from his seat, shooting an improvised toothpick arrow at the billionaire he was questioning. The projectile barely missed its target forcing Clint to tighten his makeshift floss-and-straw bow in disappointment. There was a strict no weapons in the passenger area rule, so the archer had to make do with what he had.

"Yes Man of Iron, where is this great contraption taking us. Could we not have flown there ourselves?"

Seated at one of the tables positioned on the inside of his private jet, Tony chuckled to himself. Papers and handheld computers covered his table, but he took a break from his work to survey his companions around him. Every Avenger was present, flying in his private jet, but not a single one knew where they were going. That is, not a single one but Tony Stark himself knew. He preferred to keep this information secret to lord it over Barton with smirks and whispered phrases along the lines of "I know something you don't know." It was juvenile, but neither Tony nor Clint had ever tried to be the mature adults of the group. Even so, Clint was still anything but ecstatic about Stark's latest antics.

"No Thor we can't fly there. Certain supposed birds in our group seem to have failed to mention that they can't actually fly when they applied for this job."

"Hey I didn't apply for anything. You needed my help when the aliens came to invade, remember?"

Another "arrow" came flying through the air, this time hitting its target. Tony's nose was pricked with the pointy end of a toothpick.

"Shit Barton quit doing that! This nose is worth more than you can imagine."

"Ahh shut it." The archer grumbled from his seat. "Consider yourself lucky I'm only aiming for your nose and not your eyes."

Bending over, the brunette billionaire picked up the toothpick off the floor and threw it back at his assailant.

"Natasha restrain that beast before I'm forced to deal with him."

"Like you could take me without your suit on!"

Natasha looked up from the book she had previously been reading to watch the two men's pathetic fight unfold. She had purposely distanced herself from the men on this plane to avoid petty arguments like this, but it looked as if it was time for her to intervene. The world's dumbest blond and the goateed idiot were now jumping from chair to chair throwing anything they could get their hands on at each other. The biggest annoyance of their fight was not their sheer stupidity, but in fact the limited amount of seats for the two men to jump around in. Stark's jet being smaller than a commercial plane with floor space and luxuries taking place of traditionally cramped seats, there were only so many places Clint and Tony could hide from each other. It was inevitable that the redheaded assassin would have one of the two men's butts in her face at any given time.

Thor was standing by the door to the pilot's cabin, rejoicing in the joy he derived from his companions engaging in "glorious battle" and Steve was starting to look as if he was considering stepping in to break up the fight. This would, of course, only make things worse. The last thing Natasha wanted was for Tony and Clint to gang up on the super soldier in such a confined space. There really was only one thing that could be worse than that. _At least they have enough sense to leave Bruce alone_ she thought to herself.

When Clint found more toothpicks to arm himself with Natasha finally stood up from her seat. She made sure to get to Steve first and let him know she would handle the issue, then she waited for her chance. Said chance came in the form of Clint, running past her to get to the seat she had just vacated. As soon as he was close enough she grabbed his makeshift bow and threw it in the trash. The other hand that wasn't occupied with Clint was knocking the soda can out of Tony's grip.

"Would you two just settle down already? Neither of you are who I'm supposed to babysitting on this flight."

As she scolded them, her eyes drifted over to where Bruce Banner was laying down. Ironically the calmest person on the plane, Banner was lounging across a couch reading _Popular Mechanics_, completely lost in his music.

"Oh relax ginger."

Stark casually brushed off Natasha's worries.

"Bruce is fine. I've got him hooked up with the latest in noise cancelling headphones, as many science-ey magazines as he could ever want, a direct line to the stewardesses, and do you see that covering him?"

Tony pointed towards the relaxing man, particularly towards the blue blanket like thing covering him.

"That is a Snuggie, the natural "Other Guy" deterrent."

Steve and Thor made questioning noises, but Clint just laughed.

"It's okay Nat. No one could be angry in a Snuggie, lame maybe, but not angry."

"See, everything is fine. Right Brucey?"

Genuinely proud of himself, the billionaire reached down and patted the shoulder of his partner in science. Bruce looked up to see the smile gracing the ever-tan face of Tony Stark and decided it would just be better to agree with whatever he had just said.

"Oh… uhh yeah."

"Fine, perfectly fine just as I said!"

Natasha rolled her eyes and went to sit back down in her seat. She was followed by Clint who hadn't quite forgiven Stark, but was done with the tomfoolery for now.

"Well maybe if you two would start acting your age, she would worry less."

For the first time, Steve finally chimed in to the argument.

"Sorry Cap, not all of us can be as old and mature as you are."

With that Tony went back to his seat. After a few seconds of searching he located the blueprints he had previously been studying and resumed his work.

"I thought your skirmish was rather amusing."

"Thank you Thor! I'm glad at least one person enjoys the strange farce that is my life with Barton."

A wad of paper flew up from the rear of the plane. It hit the back of Tony's head without even so much as straying from dead center. This time however, it was not thrown by Clint, but instead by Natasha. Tony whipped around to face the woman, who now showed the hint of a smile on her lips.

"What was that for Miss No-violence-on-the-plane?!"

"THAT'S MY GIRL! HA HA YOU HARRY BASTARD!"

Both Natasha and Stark ignored Clint's outburst.

"First off you've only had to spend extended time with Clint for that last few months. Second, if you had just told us where we are going all of this could have been avoided."

"Where would the fun be in that?"

A grin immediately spread across Tony's face. The billionaire just laughed, laughed right in Clint's face. The archer promptly responded with a lewd hand gesture and began to laugh with Stark. _The man is a stupid asshole, but he's a funny asshole/friend _Clint thought as he shook his head.

"Don't expect an answer from him Natasha." Steve chimed in, not surprised at all by his fellow Avenger's behavior. "He probably just decided to arrange this trip for no reason at all."

Steve, being well within reach of the mischievous Stark, had to deal with the engineer reaching out to press his finger's to the soldiers lips.

"Shush Steve, you sweet misguided old man."

Tony's hands were promptly pushed away.

"You're drunk Stark."

"On enthusiasm perhaps. Contrary to what you may believe this little quest of mine does in fact have a purpose and a fair amount of forethought."

"QUEST! Pray tell my friend do you mean to suggest we are embarking upon a noble journey."

Thor was once again excited. The prospects of adventure were just too much for him to take.

"Yes my large bearded friend I do mean to suggest. We are on a quest to discover the most elusive of truths."

The self-proclaimed genius took the liberty of creating a moment of dramatic silence. He stroked his prized facial hair and actually grabbed a drink as his companions waited for him to continue. _Better make it two _he thought _it's going to be a long flight._ After he finished indulging himself he finally proceeded.

"We are going to find out what really happened in Budapest."

* * *

Here we go. I've decided to delve into the realm of Avenger's fan-fiction. I hope it's not too horrible.


	2. Chapter 2: Newton's First LAw

Chapter Two: Newton's First Law

The rest of the flight was remarkably less eventful compared to its beginning. Stark's exclamations about Budapest instantly silenced the deadly couple. Shuffling to the back of the plane, the two remained there for the entirety of the flight, conversing in hushed tones. Clearly neither assassin wanted anyone to overhear them, a hunch Tony formed when he heard the tell-tale phonetic patters of Russian drifting through the cabin. No one besides Clint and Natasha understood the language fluently enough to hold a detailed conversation, but one word stood out in particular to Tony. It was a word he had heard many times in Russian, _ubiystvo_ : murder. _Budapest must be a very interesting subject_ Tony mused to himself.

Regardless, everyone else returned to what they had previously been doing before the scuffle. For the longest time the only sounds heard in the cabin were the assassin's whispers, until they finished plotting and sat in silence. During the lull in conversation Clint fell asleep, his head resting on Natasha's shoulder. She did not look overly excited to have the archer snoring in her ear, but Natasha made no attempt to shift his head elsewhere. She simply returned to her novel, pleased the archer was actually sleeping for once. Years of overnight stakeouts had caused him to develop a habitual insomnia.

The serenity only lasted as long as the plane was in the air. The moment the landing gear touched down and it was clear to exit, Thor rushed to the door. He drug Bruce, still draped in the Snuggie, behind him. The Asgardian clamored about the spirit of adventure as he raced down the steps to the car Stark had arranged to pick them up from the airport. After clearing his papers from his table, Tony followed the enthusiastic blond, turning his phone back on as he walked out. He met Natasha at the door and motioned for her to exit.

"Ladies first."

Feeling rather gentlemanly, Tony let Natasha through the door first making sure to bow regally as she passed. When he reached the top of the Airstairs his phone had finished rebooting and began to blink, alerting him to the multitude of messages left by Pepper. He realized then that he had totally forgotten to tell her about this trip.

"The old ball 'n chain huh?"

Clint was standing behind Tony; standing so close to read his phone he was practically resting his chin on his shoulder. A cocky gin plastered itself to the archers face as he counted each message out loud.

"You just can't go anywhere anymore Stark." Clint said with a chuckle.

"At least I'm not drug around on a two foot leash all the time."

"I like the leash Tony, and the leather masks that come with it."

Winking at Tony, Clint jumped on to the railing and slid elegantly to the ground. Apparently the stairs weren't good enough for him. Feet now back on the ground, Clint walked to the car choosing to stand next to his stealthy partner.

"Yep Barton ... you're messed up."

Rolling his eyes at his exuberant friend, Tony slid on his sunglasses. He did this more so out of habit than necessity. One should never let their appearance seem anything but cool in public. He looked at his phone once more and decided to call Pepper back once they had settled.

"What hotel are we staying at Stark?"

Steve was standing in front of the car, surrounded by the other Avengers. There was no driver; Tony had decided that this trip would be personal, more like a family vacation. It would be good for team bonding. The lack of an escort seemed to surprise his companions. They all looked expectantly towards the billionaire, waiting for some clue about what they would be doing in the city. Their eager faces were just so cute, Tony couldn't help but laugh.

"I do not know _mon capitaine_. I have yet to make a reservation."

"What?!"

Steve looked up at the philanthropist in disbelief. The idea of being in a foreign country with no place to stay did not sit well with him. The super soldier pinched his nose in frustration, and turned away from Tony.

"Don't look so glum Steve. Why don't we just ask the love birds where they stayed in Budapest? I'm sure they could recommend a great hotel."

Eyebrows raised, Stark turned towards the assassins.

"Where did you guys stay last time you were here?"

Tony descended the stairs, grinning too much for Clint to be comfortable. The marksman wasn't sure how much Stark knew, or thought he knew, but he was determined to keep the Budapest mission under lock and key. Their first trip to Budapest wasn't classified or anything, he just didn't feel like telling Stark, especially after the nosy man had forcibly dragged him across the ocean.

"On a street corner with some hobos you asshat." Clint retorted. Tony remained unfazed.

"Humm what a shame I had hoped for a more exciting home away from home. Well it looks like we're going to find some hobos guys!"

Stark turned towards the car, set on finding a den of homeless men. Clint was growing visibly irritated again, along with Steve. Although the plan seemed to please Thor for some unknown reason, Natasha decided it was best to avoid sleeping on the street.

"Stark give me your phone."

Without waiting for him to hand it over, Natasha took the phone and opened its internet browser.

"Hey! What are you doing with that?"

"You wanted a hotel to say at so I'm finding one."

After she found a suitable hotel in the city, Natasha handed the phone back to its owner. Tony looked at her choice and released a soft sigh.

"Gresham Palace, really? Did you have to pick the most expensive place in the city?"

"No one ever said you had to pay for the best room."

"This is true." Tony responded, smiling at the redhead. "But you know I'm going to anyways. Clever little assassin."

* * *

"Thank the Lord, we're here." Steve muttered as the car arrived in the front drive of the hotel.

Natasha had never agreed more with the super soldier than she did at this time. She wasn't sure why she allowed Stark to drive, but she knew now to avoid ever permitting him to do so in the future. He darted in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds, obeying only the traffic laws in his own mind. She could handle reckless driving to a certain point; after all, her missions were rarely finished without a high-speed chase, but Stark took it too far. Something is horribly wrong when Thor stops cheering and Clint is clutching your hand in fear.

Tony shifted the car into park, releasing the automatic locks, allowing everyone to quickly clamor out of the car. They stopped only briefly to look over their temporary home. Five floors of light gray stone stood before them, their continuity broken only by arched windows each glowing with gold light. By the large arched doorway stood several valets, two of which quickly rushed over to take their bags from the trunk.

Tony admired the building, smiling as he proclaimed "I like this place, nice pick Red."

Steve rolled his eyes. He was caring his own bags for he was far too polite to have someone else do work for him.

"Of course you do Stark. It's large, shiny, and expensive."

"Just like you, Angel Face."

Steve was never amused by Tony's annoying pet names, even less so by his need to follow each nickname with a butt slap. The tall blond turned to confront the engineer, his face the perfect picture of befuddled aggravation. Natasha pushed past the two men and stood in front of the gilded front doors, determined to get everyone inside before they caused an unfortunate incident.

"May I remind you Stark, that you haven't actually purchased a room yet? I would rather not waste time standing out here and risk the chance of someone recognizing who we are."

Tony shifted his attention from Steve to the increasingly livid redhead. He would have loved to stay outside the building and cause a scene, but a lengthy autograph session would delay his adventures in Budapest. He was sure he was on the right track, surely the assassin's irritation was a clear indication of this. He didn't want to waste any of his limited time.

"As you wish, Ginger. Who am I, but a walking credit card ready to pay for everything you desire."

Despite his highly sarcastic tone, Tony proudly walked through the doors and up to the reception desk. The desk was large dark wooded bureau, tucked away into a domed alcove. It was sectioned into three reception stations each with their own attendant. The center station, situated underneath a large glass chandelier, housed a short woman dressed in the hotel's black uniform. She possessed shoulder length dirty blonde hair and a cheerful smile. The other two sections on either side of her were occupied by two men, so naturally Tony approached her wearing his best smile.

"Good afternoon Miss …"

Looking over the brim of his sunglasses, Stark checked for her name on her ID badge.

"Miss Paige. What a darling name for such a darling face."

"Oh… my. Thank you Mister-mister…"

She spoke English, but with a slight accent. Her response was timely, but laced with flustered tones. She, like so many other women, was not immune to the billionaire's cavalier smiles.

"Tony Stark sweetheart. My friends and I need a place to stay for a couple of days, so if you would be so kind as to give us a room that would be wonderful."

She eyed the crowd of people waiting behind Tony. Her eyes grew ten times larger, marking the exact moment she realized who they all were. Stark raised a finger to his lips, pleading her to keep their presence a secret. Paige nodded her head in compliance.

"Oh yes, of course. I can do that, just please hold on for a moment."

Paige looked down from the bronze skinned man leaning on her counter, to her computer.

"Is is correct to assume you wish to have the royal suite Mister Stark?"

"You know me too well."

Tony reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He unfolded the leather sides and took out his credit card, handing it to Paige once she requested it. After she had entered in all his information she handed Tony his card along with two room keys.

"I only have two room keys at the moment, but I could have four more made within a few minutes and brought up to your room."

"Thank you, that would be wonder-"

Natasha snatched the keys from Tony's hand. She gave one to Steve and immediately pocketed the other.

"Two keys will be just fine."

The redheaded woman left the counter, heading towards the elevator at a relatively fast pace. Clint rushed to catch up with her, closely followed by the other men. She wanted to get up to the room as soon as possible, desiring only to relax. Hopefully a day of inactivity would be boring enough to convince Tony to go back home.

"Nat, do you not trust us with our own keys?"

"Yeah, what's the deal with this key hording?"

When they reached the elevator, Tony and Clint were standing side by side. They both looked at Natasha as if they had never been more insulted in their life.

"It's just easier to keep track of you guys this way."

The pair was not satisfied with this answer.

"But Tasha, I'm a big boy now. I can keep track of myself."

Tony shook his head in agreement.

"We are two grown men, although one of us may have grown more than the other."

Clint, being no stranger to innuendos, wasted no time recognizing the meaning behind the billionaire's words. Folding his arm, Clint jammed his elbow into Stark's side. Tony simply laughed and returned the jab.

"Look, if you want to go anywhere you'll have to make sure you're with one of the key holders." Natasha curtly retorted. "I don't think I really have to worry about Bruce or Thor, but there is no telling what you or Stark will do."

Natasha pivoted towards the elevator, set on ignoring the men. She pressed the "up" button harder than one would consider normal. The doors opened to reveal an empty car and they all piled in.

"The last thing I want is for you two to disappear and spend any more time on this ridiculous 'adventure' than we have to."

* * *

The elevator ride to their room had done little to improve Natasha's worsening mood. Someone (she wasn't sure, but she had two very likely suspects) had convinced Thor to press every button, forcing them to stop at all the floors in the hotel. Despite the considerable difference in floor amounts, this running joke was no more amusing to her here than it was at Stark's tower.

Clint and Tony were in one of their moods, something Natasha detested more than anything else. Much like two small children, they were constantly messing with each other. When they grew tired of that, they began to plot ways to make everyone else miserable. Clint's nap on the plane had improved his mood slightly, but it hadn't resolved the situation. Once the temperamental man began one of his black moods he normally staid grumpy until he beat the crap out of whoever upset him in the first place. Tony, never one to back away from a challenge, was sure to push the issue until one of them snapped.

She shook her head as the two men tripped over each other, racing down the hall, each trying to reach the suite first. The Russian spy had just about reached her daily limit of stupidity. She quickly rushed to the door and unlocked it with a quick swipe of her key through the electronic lock. Placing one hand on the back of each man's head, she pushed both through the door and into the room. The group quickly scattered, each exploring the hotel room.

Several lavishly furnished rooms compromised the majority of their suite. Four bedrooms, arranged like the corners of a square, were connected by living room of sorts in the center. Bathrooms branched off the side of each room. The bedrooms themselves were nearly the same, all containing a queen sized bed, dressers, and a personal bathroom. One room however, was facing the front of the building and as a result had more windows. This quickly became a contested item between Tony and Clint.

"Tony I need the need the extra windows. I have a vitamin D deficiency; I'll get sick without the extra sunlight."

"Vitamin D deficiency my left ass cheek! You've seen my room at home, it's all windows. I can't sleep without windows."

Both men were standing on either side of the bed, placed opposite the windows they were arguing over. They had both thrown their luggage on the bed, trying to claim the room for themselves. As they shouted at each other, they both tried to push the other's stuff off the bed. The proportion of words to expletives contained in their statements had reached an all time low when Natasha stepped into the room.

"I've never seen your damned room before asswipe!" Clint exclaimed. "How do I know you're not lying?"

A dastardly smile flashed across the billionaire's face.

"Oh that's right, you've never seen it. Your girlfriend had though, tons of times."

Clint froze mid-shove, staring at Tony. An expression of shock played on his face as he processed what Tony said. Within and instant Clint's open mouth closed and his eyes hardened like steel. Natasha had seen this air about her partner before many times. Each occasion had never ended well for the person the look was directed towards. Clint growled his words through clenched teeth.

"Keep your mouth shut you man whore!"

The archer lunged across the bed and tackled Stark to the ground. Tony could hold his own in hand-to-hand combat, but he was no expert; not the way Clint was. In no time the brunette found himself pinned to the ground, the archer straddling him. Clint's hand drew back, fingers fisted, fully prepared to punch Tony in the face. The raised hand flew down towards Stark, who flinched, fully expecting the fist to make contact with his chin. Instead the hand unclenched, lowered to the inventor's ribs, and began to violently tickle his sides. Both men shrieked, one in primal rage the other in terrified delight.

"Clint! That is enough."

Natasha fully entered the room and tried to pry the two men apart.

"It's not enough Nat, not until he pees in his pants."

"N-no haha Barton no! Not in-in this hahaha this suit!"

It was all too clear that Clint had no intentions of stopping anytime soon. Any other day Natasha would have just let the two men tire each other out, they would reach a truce eventually. Today however she decided to let off some steam. They had been asking for it since the plane ride.

"I said enough!"

She ran at Clint, tucking her legs in and jumping knees first into the enraged man's chest. She knocked the blond from Tony, who wiggled away from Barton as soon as the archer's weight lifted from his chest. A fair distance from where he had originally been Clint lay on his back, looking up at the woman who towered above him. Natasha was sitting on his chest, her knees resting on the floor just above his shoulders. She had knocked the wind out of him, but as soon as he was able to breathe again he grinned at the redhead.

"You know babe, any other time I would love to be in this position."

She rolled her eyes at the smiling man, jumping up to exit the room.

"There are not enough rooms in the suite for all of us to have our own. Since you two are so fond of this room, you can share it."

Swiftly she marched out of the room, closing the door behind her. _If they want to be stupid, they can be stupid together in this room and leave the rest of us alone. _From their side, the two men could hear muffled discussion then a large metallic thud. Tony, still sprawled out where he had hastily crawled to after the attack, looked up at Clint.

"She didn't lock it."

"She knows that wouldn't keep me in." Clint scoffed.

Curious as to what she had done, Tony wriggled across the floor and peaked under the edge of the door. After a few seconds observation he let loose a large sigh.

"She had Thor put his hammer in front of the door. I don't know how worthy you're feeling Barton, but I doubt either of us will be able to move that thing."

"Well great." Clint muttered to himself. Natasha was just too clever sometimes. "I don't want to be stuck in here with you. I assumed Nat and I were going to share a room."

Stark was just as exasperated as his roommate.

"Yeah well so did I. Really I would have gladly shared a room with Bruce if she wanted some time away from your ugly mug."

"Shut up fuzz face."

Clint said this halfheartedly. He was too winded to move from his spot on the floor, and certainly too tired to care about fighting.

"Truce?" He asked, still sprawled out over the carpet.

"Truce." Tony agreed.

They rested for few minutes before Tony stood up from the floor, brushing himself off once he reached his full height. He walked over to where his sunglasses were laying on the floor and picked them up. They had fallen from his face when Clint had tackled him, but thankfully they hadn't been damaged.

"What are we going to do now Katniss? I don't want to be stuck in this room forever."

Stark looked to Clint expectantly, waiting for his assessment of the room.

"I don't know Tony, why are you asking me."

"You're the S.H.E.I.L.D. approved master-assassin escape artist, not me."

Clint sighed once more, squeezing his eyes closed in displeasure. When he reopened his eyes he propped himself up off the floor and gave the room a once over. In his desire to piss off Tony, he had fixated on the windows and ignored the rest of the room.

He mentally ran through several escape plans. Natasha had thoroughly secured the main exit. The door opened outwards, meaning only Thor could lift the hammer-turned-doorstop and free them. Any attempts at calling over the Asgardian and getting him to help would surely be stopped by Natasha. The same barriers would apply to any attempts to break down or remove the door. The only other egress led to the bathroom, but seeing as neither of them could fit down a drain that was useless. _It would be easy to break one of the windows_ Clint thought, _but I doubt Tony could scale the side of the building without falling._

The archer was just about to give into his fate and lay down on the bed when he noticed a vent above one of the dressers. He sprung from the floor and ran to the bed.

"Tony you've got tools with you, right?"

"Yeah, just what I keep with me for suit maintenance. Why?"

The billionaire watched, slightly confused, as his friend sifted through the luggage covering their bed. Clint sorted through the bags, passing over those he knew to be his own and pushing aside the portable Iron Man suit folded into a briefcase. He finally found the heavy black bag he was looking for. Ripping open the zipper, he reached in a grabbed a screw driver.

Just as quickly as he had moved to the bed, Clint ran to the dresser, clearing away the items resting on its surface before jumping on top. From this position he could reach the vent and easily unscrew the grate covering its depths. After he removed all the screws he threw the vent cover and the screwdriver to the ground. Grabbing the edges of the now exposed vent, he climbed out of sight. A quick survey of the insides told him this was exactly what he was looking for.

"Hey Tin Can I found the air ducts; they run all through the building. As long as you're not too loud when we pass over Natasha, we can escape through this."

_I've out smarted her this time_ Clint though as he chuckled to himself. Tony could hear only the laughter echoing through the ducts, changing from giggles to cackling. It was rather unsettling.

"It figures you would enjoy creeping through the innards of buildings. What are you Clint, a Basilisk?"

The laughter abruptly stopped, along with any noise from the vent. Wondering what had happened, Tony climbed on to the dresser to get a better look into the duct. When his head reached the opening, Barton's face appeared out of the darkness, hissing loudly at the engineer.

"What the hell!"

Instinctively, Stark jumped backwards, almost falling off the dresser. Clint laughed at his companion and extended his arms.

"Parseltounge dumb-ass, now get in here."

The archer flapped his arms around in Tony's face until the brunette eventually grabbed them. He was immediately pulled into the vent. It was dark and very dusty on the inside of the metal tunnel. Tony wasn't sure how Barton had seen anything in here, but he certainly could not. He unbuttoned his shirt exposing the darkness to the light of his arc reactor.

"When's the last time you had a good drink Barton?"

"I'm not sure, after Manhattan maybe?"

Tony smiled.

"I think I know where we're going buddy."

After a mutual chuckle, the two began to crawl through the ducts away from their prison.

* * *

And the plot thickens.

Thank you so very much to all of you who've read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this. Your support is very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3: Iron Pastry

Chapter Three: Iron Pastry

"Hey… Barton. Are we sure this is the place we want to be? It seems kinda unsafe, for me I mean. No one is going to want to even come close to you, not with that 'resting face' of yours, but me…. I don't like not having Happy and-"

"Stark, shut your damned mouth. After all that time I spent getting you out here, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

The archer turned towards his companion, walking in sync with the skeptical billionaire. Tony looked as if he was ready to speak again, but Clint continued before he could.

"Unless of course you keep talking Stark, in which case I will wound you."

It had been quite the struggle getting Tony through the vents. Stark was many things – genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist being his personal favorites – but subtle he was not. It was seemingly impossible for the man to move without making some sort of noise; being in a giant metal tube only emphasized his clattering nature; passing over Natasha in the living room had proven nearly impossible except at abysmally low speeds. They had managed to make it through without rousing suspicion, but it had been the single most mentally and physically taxing thing Clint had ever done. More so than taking on an army of aliens - _without_ any superpowers thank you very much.

Thankfully, after making it past Natasha's couch-filled fortress, the rest of the air duct adventure was easy sailing. It was all too simple to exit the vents into the hallway, take the elevator down to the lobby, and hail a cab; all to the soundtrack of the Mission Impossible theme song. Neither of the two men possessed enough self-control to not hum the famous tune as they crawled around.

Now they were making their way through the streets of Budapest, searching for a place Barton had refused to tell Stark of. These streets were darker than those around the hotel, dingier with loose papers rolling down the avenues, lights flickering dim orange light across the shadows. Clint was unperturbed by his surroundings. Without a care he strolled down the cobbled streets, his hands resting in the pockets of his dark canvas jacket. Tony on the other hand was clearly out of his element, his Armani suit clashing with faded jeans of other passersby, Italian leather shoes splotched with dirt for the first time.

Stark had been to some pretty dodgy places during his adventures as Iron Man, but never without his suit. It was easy to understand how the inventor might feel uncomfortable wandering around a shifty neighborhood with no suit, a man he had only know for a few months, and more money in his wallet than one person should ever really carry at one time. Still, Clint wasn't going to let Stark get off easy. _The man can poke Bruce with pointy objects without a fear, but to walk through a strange neighborhood at night and that's too much. _ Clint chuckled to himself. _The man is ridiculous._

"I would just feel a little better if I had the football is all." Stark pouted.

Clint could just imagine the ruckus that would have ensued had they attempted to drag the large metal case through the air vents.

"That hunk-o-junk would have never made it past the _Nadziratel'_." Clint shot back at the petulant man, switching into Russian without a thought.

"Ooooh _Nadziratel'_. That doesn't sound like a cute pet name for your foxy Russian lady."

Stark rounded on his archer friend, mouth formed into a perfect "O", eyebrows raised and eyes gleaming at the possibility of drama.

"Is the deadly duo having domestic issues?"

One corner of Tony's mouth pulled upwards as he spoke, forming the signature Stark smile. Clint just rolled his eyes.

"Don't you have shadows to be afraid of?"

Tony was still smiling, but his expression was less amused. His eyes looked as if they were condemning Barton to a life of painful misery.

"Don't you go anywhere that isn't coated in filth and possibly murder?"

"Hmmm… not generally."

Clint's eyes drifted to the side of the street. There had been a movement in the alley branching off the street they were now on. It was nothing immediately dangerous, but still something the archer would have to keep an eye on. He wasn't in the habit of letting his guard down, even if he was off duty.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. If I feel safe enough to leave without my bow, I think we're fine. Besides half the time you use your aluminum tuxedo it's not needed."

"Aluminum tuxedo!" Tony scoffed, before taking a minute to consider the newly formed nickname. "Actually I like the way that sounds. Nice call Bird-brain."

"Just doing my duty sir."

Clint tipped an imaginary hat to Stark, pleased someone appreciated his wit. At the next corner they turned left, stepping on to a new street. This avenue was just as dilapidated as the last, the only difference being the bright lights shining through the windows of a bar. The place sat sandwiched between two rundown buildings. By comparison it was the best looking joint on the block, but it was no Asgardian dining hall. Patrons could be viewed through windows begging to be properly washed and music leaked through the cracks in the structure.

"Just as I remembered."

Clint stood in front of the establishment, hands on hips, smiling ever so slightly. A strange look crossed the archer's face, one that made it impossible for Tony to discern whether he should smile with the man or run before he could do anything awful.

"Was this where you spent your time in Budapest?" Tony stepped into place next to Barton, his distaste for the bar evident on his face. "Was your whole trip this … seedy?"

The billionaire surveyed the building, taking in every minor structural fault and questionable stain. None of the patrons inside looked like those normally found in the places Tony frequented.

"I can't go in there Barton. I don't think my vaccines are up to date."

"Don't be such a priss. If the almighty Stark wishes to discover the secrets of Budapest…"

Clint threw one arm around Tony's shoulders, using the other to gesture grandly at the bar.

"Then he must come down off his pedestal and sink to our level."

* * *

It had taken Clint mere seconds to acclimate himself to the atmosphere of the bar. Shortly after crossing the threshold he spotted two empty stools at the front counter. Clint made a beeline for the empty spots, hooking a foot under one and pulling it away from the bar before finally sitting down. Stark followed, his usual confidence and strut masking his pessimism. The dark-haired man surveyed the room, taking in the stained walls, ripped seat covers, and dreary-eyed patrons swaying to the downbeat music playing over the speakers. _Definitely not my__ usual crowd._

"Why are we here Barton? We could have gone somewhere nicer."

"If you want to wander off by yourself or sneak back into the hotel room, please feel free to do so."

Despite his complaints, Tony still sat down with his companion. He twirled around on the stool once before facing Clint. He watched as the blond muttered something in what the billionaire assumed to be Hungarian to the bartender. The balding, apron-wearing man returned to the pair, two beers in hand. Tony wasn't really a beer kinda guy, but he supposed alcohol was alcohol. He doubted they had even a single bottle of his normal fare anywhere on the shelves; the bar was definitely running a "quantity over quality" business.

"I'm just saying Katniss, we could be sitting in the VIP room of some club right now, fancy drinks in hand and sexy ladies all around."

The billionaire waited for the bartender to set his drink down before reaching for it.

"My reputation and your sweet ass would be more than enough to get us through the door, no questions asked."

Clint smirked into his beer, taking a swig before returning it to its coaster.

"You and I both know that a night like that would end up with you dancing on a pole with no shirt on, and I don't think I could ever be drunk enough to enjoy _that_."

A burst of laughter forced its way from Tony's diaphragm, spraying amber liquid everywhere. He smiled, turning to Clint who was now busy wiping beer splatter from his face.

"Well that sounds like a testable hypothesis, now doesn't it."

* * *

Several hours slipped by the two men as they lounged in the bar. The sky darkened further, the street only visible directly under the few street lights. Happy hour passed and with it left the casual drinkers. Now the bar filled with the regular visitors, hardy men and women who spent their nights there in the company of their fellow full-time drinkers.

In the middle of all this, still seated at the center of the bar, sat Tony and Clint happily tallying up a massive bill. Their section of the counter was littered with the crumbled remains of bar nuts and soggy napkins used in an attempt to clean minor spills. They occasionally twirled on their stools, million watt smiles shining at full power as they garbled stories to each other of their pasts.

"After I shot her a few times, Hill went full commando. She was screaming, her own Nerf darts shooting everywhere. I had to do my best to dodge 'em. But, but then get this, Fury came into the office."

Clint waved his hands enthusiastically, enunciating his words with hand gestures. A full-fledged smile spread across his face, and for the first time that day his joy was visible in his eyes.

"Fury! On the helicarrier? I woulda' never guessed. What happened next?" Tony slurred, hanging on to Clint's every word.

"He was shouting and ranting about rules and proper conduct, you know, the usual bullshit. Just standing in the doorway yapping away, I couldn't resist. I loaded my last dart into my Nerf gun...and shot 'im, right in his good eye!"

The marksman reached for his glass, draining the last portion of his beer. His disappointment when it emptied was evident on his face, even more so when the barkeeper denied him a refill. Clint shrugged it off though, opting to continue his story.

"The damn thing scratched his cornea! Hill rushed him off to medical and when he came back… he had an eye-patch over that eye too!"

The two men dissolved into a fit of laughter, tearing up at the thought of a completely patched Fury. Their high-pitched hysterical laughter signaled that it was time to go home, but both men were too far gone to realize just how drunk they were. Granted Clint wasn't nearly as inebriated as his companion, but he was far drunker than he had been in a long while; too drunk to notice the new group of patrons that had just arrived at the bar.

They were a menacing group of people, several tall buff men and a smattering of floozy women. Scarred, rough-looking people who scared the other patrons out of the bar. No one wanted to get mixed up with the likes of them. Even the bartender left the room, giving a nod before shuffling to the back muttering something about taking inventory.

Within minutes the only people left in the bar with the dark gaggle were Tony and Clint. The two sat, still laughing at Clint's story, blissfully unaware of the glaring men behind them. Their presence was not wanted, and two men had come to "request" their departure. They loomed behind the chuckling men, waiting for their arrival to be acknowledged.

Clint eventually sensed the presence of people behind him, turning around to face whoever was standing so close. Tony turned as well, his laughter dying immediately once he saw the new arrivals. The Hungarian's were tall, very tall, probably the tallest of the group, graced with dark hair and broad shoulders. One had an impressive looking beard sprouting from his chin. It was so long it almost brushed the lapels of his leather jacket. A jagged scar ran down the cheek of the other man, starting below his eye and curling around his mouth. His arms were covered with tattoos and off of one hung a mildly attractive woman.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Tony asked, jerking his thumb towards the looming figures just in case Clint didn't notice them.

"Damned if I know." Clint responded.

The two men had begun to talk now, however their words were indecipherable. They spoke only in Hungarian and the longer Clint and Tony stared, the more aggravated they sounded.

"Clint do you have any idea what these two are saying? I can't understand a word of that gibberish."

Tony shot side glances at his companion. He refused to take his full attention from them men in front of him.

"Why would I know? I don't speak Hungarian!" the archer snapped.

"Oh you don't? It sure sounded like you did. You've just been talking up a storm with the bartender all night _in Hungarian!_"

Clint rolled his eyes.

"I only know how to ask for two beers. That's all I've said all night. I can't even begin to comprehend a single syllable of what they're saying."

The tension in the room was rising, and with it rose tempers. Neither side was able to understand the others words, but it was pretty easy to decipher the menacing men's body language. Clint looked to the two men, trying to form some sort of communication.

"Do either of you speak English? English?"

He received no answers, the Hungarian men only tensed, startled by his sudden outburst.

"You don't speak English. Of course you don't, that would be too easy."

Clint couldn't help but heave a heavy sigh. His night was starting to take a turn for the worse. _We should have stayed in the damn hotel room._ Still trying to make a connection, he turned towards the woman. Schooling his face into a pleasant grin, he tried to make himself seem less threatening.

"Hi there. You wouldn't happen to-"

The scarred man mistook his friendly approach with something of a more sexual nature. He pulled his lady friend away from the bar and began to shout.

"Hey, hey, hey I'm not trying to hit on your girl. There's no need to get rowdy."

Clint took a step back, both hands raised, palms out in a submissive manner. There was no escape from the bar that didn't involve going through people, and last thing he wanted was for things to get physical. Tony on the other hand, thought the entire thing was hilarious. He couldn't contain his laughter or the few snorts that escaped.

"Calm down you troglodytes. Barton's a one-lady kinda man, why would he be taking sloppy seconds when he's got Miss Pouty Lips?"

The billionaire pursed his lips in a ridiculous manner, hands raised to his chest miming the presence of breasts. He affected a terrible Russian accent before continuing.

"Come here Clint. I wish to sit oh so close to you and hint to the fact I have feelings for you, but then dance around the issue with metaphors about ledgers."

In hind sight, that little presentation probably wasn't the best idea Tony had ever had. Not knowing English, the burly men in front of them most likely assumed the inventor was making another pass at the woman, what with all the pretend breast wiggling. It wasn't that much of a surprise when the tattooed man made a grab at Tony.

Thankfully Clint's survival instincts, far too ingrained into his person to be dulled by alcohol, stopped him before he could harm the goateed man. The fist that had previously been destined for Tony's jaw was smacked away, much to the displeasure of the man throwing the punch. He immediately rounded on Clint, attempting to strike him instead. Once again instincts took over, but this time with a more painful consequence. The archer grabbed the burly man's arm, twisting it to the left while forcing the elbow to bend against its joint. The bones let loose an unpleasant crack and Clint grabbed the man firmly by the shoulders, slamming his forehead against the hardwood bar. He crumpled to the ground laying unconscious at the archer's feet.

This had all happened within seconds and left everyone else in the establishment stunned. The felled man's partner, after a brief pause, tried to attack Clint, hoping to succeed where the other had failed. Tony, still surprisingly agile considering his state of being, swiftly dealt with the man. He picked up the bar stool closest to where he was standing and brought it down upon the bearded man's head. Both men now laid unconscious, the female companion now on the other end of the bar with the rest of the group.

"I would say I'm sorry, but your facial hair was kinda lame." Tony said, placing the stool back in its place. He turned to Clint, pride evident in his features.

The remaining men in the bar, seeing this attack on their group, its purpose still unknown to the superheroes, all rose to defend their fallen comrades. They advanced on the two men, encircling them with their far greater numbers. More men must have come into the bar while the two Avengers had been distracted, because there were far more than either man had originally thought. A quick count revealed they were outnumbered seven to one.

The two men looked to each other, both realizing the gravity of their situation. Neither was in possession of their equipment and it was too late to call for backup. This fight was not going to end well.

"Well here goes nothing."

Clint ran at the nearest assailant, ducking the blow aimed at his head and simultaneously kicking the feet out from under his opponent.

"We're fucked." Tony muttered before diving into the fray without a second thought.

They hadn't started this fight, but they were damn well gonna' finish it.

* * *

Tony awoke in darkness, his vision blurred and head pounding. He had no idea where he was, what time it was, or who had left him here. To say he was disoriented would be an understatement. He tried to collect his thoughts, but his mind was reeling so fast he could hardly remember his name.

"Anthony Stark… my name is Anthony Edward Stark." He grunted through gritted teeth.

He clung to this piece of information; it was the only thing he was certain of, the only thing keeping him grounded. Tony tried to move his arms, but found them to be immobile. They were pinned behind his back, tied at the wrist by coarse rope. He was trapped, stuck in the chair he was sitting in. He was a hostage.

"Fuuuck, not again."

Tony sighed, rolling his head forward. His chin rested on his chest, disheveled dark hair flopping in front of his eyes. The restrained engineer tried to blow the strands out of his face, but gave up shortly. He closed his eyes, his head hurting slightly less with them shut. Flashes of his memories came back to him, images of what had happened before he blacked out.

He remembered the bar fight Clint and he had gotten themselves into; Fourteen men against two, all over some stupid misunderstanding. The odds had been against them, but they had faced worse. Clint had held his ground, as always, downing any man who had dared to come near him. Tony, well he hadn't done so well. Fighting outside of his suit wasn't his specialty. Sure he had trained with Happy, but that was one-on-one while he was sober. Never had he tried to fight five men at one time, and certainly not while he could barely stay on his feet. The headache he had currently was most likely a result of a massive hangover, that and a massive ass whooping.

They had managed to halve the number of men in the room, but more had come flooding in. He remembered his shock as Hungarian behemoths came from nowhere, surrounding him then Clint. They had been ambushed and taken from behind. He winced, remembering a beer bottle smashing against his temple. After that everything was black.

He opened his eyes again, this time long enough for his sight to adjust to the darkness. opposite the one door in the brick walled room, was a single window. It cast a beam of sunlight into the otherwise murky room. Boxes were stacked against the walls, burlap sacks tossed everywhere. They were filled with… baking supplies.

"What the… I'm hostage in a bakery?"

He was thoroughly confused. The men who had fought with them did not, in any way, shape, or form, look like bakers. He didn't dwell on this long however, for he discovered another person in the room. It was Clint, tied just as tightly as he was, but still unconscious.

"Not unconscious." Tony smirked as he heard snores that could only belong to one man. "Just asleep."

He let the archer nap until he could stand waiting no more.

"Hey douche bag! Wake your feathery ass up!"

Clint snapped back to attention, jerking his head from its resting position. He blinked, confused, but not surprised. This wasn't the first time the blond had awoken tied to a chair. He took a moment to gather himself, but was quick to resume his usual temperament.

"Do you really need to shout Tony? I'm only a few feet away from you."

He kept his eyes partially squinted, his mouth set in a stern frown. A smirk crossed the billionaire's face.

"You're just as hung-over as I am!" Tony chuckled. A partner in misery made things more bearable.

"Let's stop giggling about headaches." Clint snapped. "We have more important things to worry about, like how to get out of this mess."

Clint wasted no time in wondering where they were, since it didn't really matter. They were being held hostage and the only way to remedy that was to escape. Tony watched as the archer began to survey the room, taking in every detail and formulating multitudes of plans. His face set in a look of concentration, eyes darting around the room, hands busily trying to slip from their restraints. He looked, not worried, but certainly not optimistic.

"Welp, my standard escape plan is shot." Tony casually announced, causing Clint to glance over curiously.

"I can't make a suit out of baked goods."

Tony said this as nonchalantly as one who discusses their lunch plans. The humor was not lost on Clint, who forgot his plans for escape long enough to laugh. He kept on laughing, Tony joining in as well.

"Could you imagine?" Clint gasped between chortles. "The- the Iron Pastry?"

With this both men completely lost their composure; whether it was from shock, stress, fear, or remnants of alcohol still floating around their blood streams, they were not sure. Their laughter echoed through the room, building upon itself until it was the only sound they could hear. It ran rampant, uninterrupted until a new noise made its way to their eardrums. A sharp, staccato clacking sounded from the hall getting closer with each second.

"Footsteps." Clint whispered, his laughter long forgotten.

Both men focused on the door, waiting for what was on the other side. The footsteps stopped, the door knob turned, and the door opened. A man stood in the entryway, shorter and slimmer than those who had beaten them. He chose to dress in all black, leaving brown ringlets of hair free to curl atop his head.

"Now you are awake, it time for interrogation." He announced in broken English.

Tony looked to Clint, worry in his eyes. Strangely the archer seemed to relax with this new development. He leaned back in his chair, one side of his mouth raised in a lopsided grin.

"Do your worst."

* * *

Just in case you were wondering _Nadziratel' (надзиратель) _is Russian for warden.

Hey look there's another chapter! Things are getting a move on, I'm so excited to write this story.

Thanks to anyone who had followed, Favorited, or reviewed. I adore you all, but especially my wonderful and glorious editor Paige, because without her, I would be utterly fucked in terms of grammar.


	4. Chapter 4: Bruises on Bruises

Chapter Four: Bruises on Bruises

The thin man stepped to the side of the room. A clicking noise was heard and suddenly both the men tied to chairs were blinded. Bright light flooded the room, illuminating ever corner, every box, and two men now standing in the door way. They followed the first man, both much larger than he was. It was obvious what their role in the interrogation was going to be.

"You were in bar, why?"

The dark clothed man spoke, but did not move from his place in the room. He was observing his captives, watching their reactions. Clint was first to respond.

"Just getting a drink."

He spoke the truth, but his tone made it seem otherwise. He sounded as if he was lying, just to piss the man off. His eyes gleamed, smile brightened, daring the man to call his nonexistent bluff. Tony wasn't exactly known for making the best decisions, but even he didn't think it wise to smile at a man like you just finished making out with his sister; especially when you were tied to a chair and completely at his mercy. Still he kept quiet and let Clint handle the situation. He figured the man had more experience dealing with these kinds of situations.

Their interrogator simply nodded, opting to move on to his next question.

"Who are you?"

"Simon and Garfunkel, obviously. If you let us go we'll sign some autographs."

The man smiled, chuckling softly at Clint's retort. With one hand he motioned to his goons. They stepped forward, looking all too eager to start their portion of the questioning. Ominous, and slightly clichéd knuckle cracking proceeded punches, knee jabs, and kicks.

The beating stopped, but only after another signal from the interrogator. Both Avengers looked worse for wear, lips split, faces red with freshly formed bruises and streaks of blood. Pain and adrenaline had Tony's head reeling once more. His heart was beating rapidly and his breathing refused to drop below a heavy, irregular pant. He turned his head to his partner who looked no better than he did, if not a bit worse. Clint's smile though, his damned smile, had never faltered once through the whole thing. It stayed set, teeth eerily exposed and seemingly out of place. Tony exhaled sharply. He was certainly not as pleased with their situation.

"Would you stop being such an ass Cl- Agent."

Tony corrected himself quickly, thankful he had not let slip Clint's identity. The archer guarded that information much more than the billionaire ever had his own. It had been weeks before Tony had learned his first name was Clint, and that was only after overhearing Natasha speaking with him.

Still, calling him Agent had roused the dark man's suspicion. One eyebrow raised, he stepped closer to his captives, still studying their faces. After a few moments study he moved closer, positioning himself directly in front of Tony. He reached forward, grasping the collar of Tony's shirt. One quick movement ripped the garment open, bathing the room in blue light. The man smiled at the exposed arc reactor.

"I know exactly who you are."

He motioned once more to his men before leaving the room. They stepped forward, their demented smiles taking over the captive men's field of view.

* * *

After the second round of beatings, the two men had been left alone. Tony was thankful for the brief reprise, even if he knew it wouldn't last for long. He didn't feel like he could take much more abuse, at least not without his lungs caving in. He closed his eyes, concentrating on getting his heart rate to slow down. His partner on the other hand, was just fine. Clint was still smiling and it wasn't long before he began to whistle some overly cheery tune. Tony glared at the man, finding his good humor unamusing.

"Now would be a real great time for you to organize a miraculous escape Birdy."

Tony let his head fall backwards, his natural joking manner long gone.

"This is going to kill me." He said with a dark chuckle. "They'll probably just kill me anyways. I'm sure someone has a huge bounty on my head."

"Nahh they're not going to kill us."

Tony looked up at Clint, surprised at how optimistic the archer sounded. Moments ago when there were sitting in this room, unharmed, he had grumbled and cursed, but now everything was ok? Either Clint had received one too many punches to the head, or he was a serious masochist. Tony's expression must have conveyed his thoughts, because Clint responded promptly.

"I feel better now that we've seen who has us captive. I've gotten the gist of how things work around here."

"Yes the gist. We sit, you snark, they beat. That was real hard to figure out."

Clint ignored the malice in the inventor's voice and tried to explain himself. Having no hands to use, the archer gestured towards the door with his head.

"I'm not sure why these guys are keeping us hostage, but I do know they don't think of us as threat. Our interrogator is not the head of their organization, he's high up for sure, but not their best."

Tony could believe that. The man had signaled to his goons as if asking them to beat the crap out of their captives, not ordering. The Matrix reject must not be that much higher up the ranks then they were.

"Ok sure, but how are you so sure he won't kill us."

"He didn't tell us his name."

Tony tried his best, but he couldn't contain his exasperated retort.

"What the ever-loving fuck does his name have to do with our lives?!"

The way Clint looked at Tony, you would think the billionaire had just asked him what color a blue crayon was.

"Him not telling us his name means he's making sure we can't find him if we escape. We have to be alive to escape, therefore he is not going to kill us."

It was Tony's turn to wear a look of disbelief.

"That's stupid. How many of your targets do you shout your name to before you shoot an arrow through their eye or something equally horrible?"

"He's an interrogator Tony, not as assassin." Clint said, as if this clarified the inventor's confusion. It was evident after some silent stares that it had not, so Clint continued.

"Where as my work requires not to be seen, his work requires the exact opposite. To successfully interrogate someone you need to make your presence painfully obvious. The more his victims are aware of him, the damage he could do, the damage he has already done, the more information he gets. "

The smile faded from Clint's face as he spoke, his expression darkening slightly.

"Only once he had bled everything from you will he tell you his name. That is when he kills you, after you serve no use to him."

Tony shifted his gaze from Clint to the floor. He was more than a little creeped out by what he was hearing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how the marksmen had become such an expert on the subject, but he didn't want to press the issue.

"Well then… I'm glad I don't know the bastards name."

"He'll be back." Clint said dryly. "And he'll keep coming back until he's ready to tell us his name. We're not the kind of people you just let go after interrogating."

"But I thought you just said we weren't going to die…"

The inventor was affronted once more. He had thought Clint's speech was supposed to be uplifting and optimistic.

"Oh don't worry. We'll have escaped before then."

Tony felt slightly better now. He had no doubt that Clint would be able to break free from simple rope constraints, it was just a matter of when.

Sharp footsteps echoed down the hall once more. Both men turned to each other, knowing what was coming down the hall for them.

* * *

"Most people would talk by now."

The dark clothed man moved away from a small table. It had been set up in the room upon his return, its surface covered with the various tools of his trade. He had gone through just about every instrument in the last hour, trying to extract the information he desired. He had yet to receive satisfactory answers, so now he picked a new tool. A pair of brass knuckles rested upon his hands, gleaming in the light. He adjusted them on his hands, making sure they sat just right.

"You are persistent."

"Most people would just say I'm a dumbass."

Clint sat, still strapped to his chair, watching every move the interrogator made. He didn't know what the man was trying to get from him, but he made sure to meet every blow with smile.

"Myself included." Tony muttered from his chair.

The archer's grin stretched wider across his face, marred only by the dripping cut on the lower lip. Their interrogator chuckled at the two men. He approached Clint's chair, still fingering the metal wrapped around his hand.

"I heard rumors about _the_ _great Hawkeye_, but…"

Their interrogator emphasized Clint's codename, his heavy accent only making the sentence more sinister.

"I never heard that he was stupid. In fact most people say you would escape by now."

"Oh please, don't flatter me. You're making me blush."

The brass covered hand struck the archer's face, leaving new gashes atop already present bruises. The man stepped back, just as calm as ever.

"I also hear you do not work alone. Not anymore."

He moved away from Clint's chair, drifting his hand through the blonde's hair as he walked away. A few steps to the left placed him in front of Tony.

"Certainly you don't work with him. The only thing bigger than his public presence is his ego. He would do more harm than good as partner."

The restrained inventor did not look pleased to be the focus of the interrogator's attention. He let some of his hatred, mixed with sarcasm drip into his tone when he responded.

"Actually there is one other thing larger than my public presence. Or perhaps it is the reason my public presence is so large, quite a few people have had the pleasure of seeing it."

Tony interrupted the man's monologue, and suffered for it. New wounds were added to those already marking his face.

"I am not talking to you."

The man in black turned back to Clint.

"I think maybe, you respond when it's not you in danger. Now tell me…"

He brushed his brass knuckles over Tony's cheek. The inventor's jaw clenched at the contact.

"Where is your partner?"

"Right next to you shit face."

Tony was struck again.

"Where is the Widow."

"So she's what this is all about?"

Clint's cocky grin faltered for a split second at the mention of Natasha. It was so brief a change, Tony barely noticed it. He would have never seen it had he not been staring so intensely at the archer, trying to focus on something besides the man assaulting him.

"She has very little to do with this. I just wouldn't want her interrupting out little chat."

The man twirled his pointer finger, picking one of the numerous bruises on the inventor's face with great care. He took his thumb and pressed the tender skin, digging and twisting as he increased the pressure he applied. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. He attempted to swallow his cries of anguish, but was only partially successful.

"Does that hurt?" the man asked, only jabbing his thumb into the bruise harder.

"It will stop. Your friend just had to tell me where the Black Widow is. When is she coming to rescue you?"

Tony reopened his eyes. They met the archer's from across the room, clearly stating he would take any punishment to keep the other's safe. This would stay between the two of them.

"How about I tell you about the date I took your mother on the other night? Boy can she move between the sheets."

Their interrogator was not impressed. He grabbed a fist full of Tony's hair, pulling the inventor's head up to look into his eyes.

"This time I think I'll break the jaw."

The hand that was not tangled in dark hair drew back, ready to strike.

"No!" Clint shouted.

The interrogator turned, lowering his attacking hand.

"You don't have to hurt him. If you had just asked I would have told you everything without all this senseless violence."

Clint's acting skills put Oscar winners to shame. He looked tired, broken, like the beating had finally gotten to him. His blue eyes darted to and from the inventor's bloody face before finally hanging his head. Tony would have been fooled, had he not known what a crafty bastard Clint was.

"Really? Why didn't you say so." The interrogator sneered. "I never thought you would be so easy to break."

The man in black actually believed the archer's performance. A smile spread across his face, pleased that he had broken the defiant blonde. His gloating was cut short however, when Clint stopped acting. He lifted his head, smile returned to his face, his eyes gleaming with frightening amounts of hate. Clint had lied to Tony earlier when he had said he only knew one phrase in Hungarian.

"_Baszd meg magad_!" Clint spat, and then actually spat at the interrogator.

The man looked just as calm as ever, no emotion passed over his face, but his eyes flashed with hostility. He struck Clint, harder than he had before.

"You will regret your insolence."

Turning on his heels, the man left the room.

* * *

It had been hours since the captive men had heard from outside their room, but eventually familiar footsteps echoed down the hall once more. Tony and Clint looked to each other, confirming what they already knew. Their interrogator was coming back.

"Now?" Tony asked.

Clint answered the question with a nod, not willing to risk saying anything with the footsteps so close. They had used their second break wisely, taking advantage of every hour they had been left alone. Detailed escape plans had been made, taking into account every possible variable to ensure their desired outcome. They were ready to go home.

The interrogator soon entered the room for a third time. He looked over his captives, taking pride in their deteriorated condition. The two men were haggard looking, dark bags under their eyes, faces covered in ripe bruises, dried blood caked around numerous gashes. He imagined they would pass out in exhaustion at any moment.

"'Are you ready to talk, or do you need more convincing?"

Tony wished he could just escape right away, but Clint's plan was very clear. They needed to pump the man for more information first.

"Maybe if you would tell us what you want, things would go more smoothly."

The interrogator donned another dark smile. He moved over to his table, running fingers over his tools but selecting none.

"I want to know why two of … 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' were at my employer's meeting."

The man circled Tony and Clint, still leering at them. He moved out of sight, behind the two men, bringing a chair with him when he returned to their field of view.

"Were you waiting for my employer? SHIELD has been looking for him as of late. Did they send you?"

He placed the chair in front of his captives, choosing to sit backwards. He straddled the wooden seat, placing his arms on the back of the chair. His expression was expectant, he was waiting for one of the men to answer him. Tony responded. It was his job to do the talking this interrogation round.

"I'm not sure we even know who your employer is."

"Oh you don't Mister Stark, but your companion does."

The man turned to Clint, focusing on the blond while he continued to talk to Tony.

"Before the Manhattan Invasion the crime-world was stirring with activity. A call to arms had been issued, beckoning all enemies of SHIELD to come help usher in a new order."

The man's smile grew more ominous with each world.

"Men came from all around, many out of hiding, dying to get the power promised in return for helping a god rise to power. Loki was going to take over the world, assisted by none other than Hawkeye, SHIELD's greatest agent."

The interrogator shifted his attention away from Clint. He chose to focus on Tony instead.

"My employer found it rather humorous, providing weapons to a man destined to take down his own organization so he joined in on the scheme. My employer, like all the others, was promised power, a prominent position in Loki's new world. He almost had it too. Unfortunately the whole operation went sour and within a week S.H.E.I.L.D. was going doorstep to doorstep rounding up those who had helped with the invasion."

He chuckled.

"Can you guess who was leading the round-up? The man who was trying so desperately to pay penance for the crimes he committed in the name of Loki?"

In one smooth motion, the interrogator stood from his chair, straightening his jacket before he moved. Once he was satisfied with his garment he made his way over to Clint.

"My employer worked very hard to disappear. I do not know how you managed to find us, but I know my employer is displeased with you. There is nothing he hates more than a spy."

The interrogator was now crouched, his head lowered enough to rest by Clint's ear. He dropped his voice to a whisper, his words sliding off his tongue like a snake slides through grass.

"How did it feel to be Loki's pet? What was it he always called you again? Oh that's right, you were his 'Deadly Little Hawk.' Oh the stories you told to please him were most enjoyable. The best ones were always about your partner, about the horrible things the Wido-"

The rest of the man's sentence was reduced to a shocked outcry. Clint, having heard his fill, smashed his head against the man's forehead. The archer stood from his chair, wrists slipping from the bonds he had long since escaped from. He grabbed the rope previously used to contain him and threw it around the interrogator's neck. Clint's hands wrapped around both ends of the rope, pulling it tight enough to keep the man from moving, but not tight enough to choke him.

He was behind the interrogator now, pressing his knee painfully into his back. He positioned his head next the man's ear, growling commands through clenched teeth.

"Mention her one more time and I will pull this rope tighter, understood?"

The man managed to gargle a yes through his constraints.

"Great!"

A smile returned to his face as Clint walked the man over to Tony.

"Now if you would please follow me, I need some help untying my friend."

He forced the interrogator to his knees, setting him near the billionaire's restraints. The man had no choice to comply and quickly set about freeing Tony. As soon as he was released, Tony jumped from his chair, stretching out his sore muscles. The interrogator was forced into the vacant chair, tied down and left to struggle.

"You will regret this! Do you think you can get away from me? There are men everywhere; you won't make it five feet bef-"

"Yeah, yeah whatever. Shut your trap."

Clint grew tired of the man's rants. He ripped a portion of the man's shirt of and made a gag which he quickly shoved in the man's mouth.

"Birdy?" Tony began, voice full of precaution. "Do you know who this man is working for?"

"I'll explain after we leave." Clint answered quickly, making it clear there was to be no more questions.

Now that both men were standing over him, the interrogator began to thrash around more, flipping the unzipped edges of his jacket open. The inside pocket was exposed, and Tony could see his possessions contained with its depths.

"Hey! The arrogant little shit was carrying my stuff with him."

The inventor reached into the pocket, snatching his phone and wallet away from the dark man.

"Thanks." he said with some genuine gratitude. "Now I don't have to cancel all my credit cards."

A smile formed on Tony's face, but it quickly diminished when Clint ripped his phone from his hands. The archer threw it to the ground with great force. Tony watched horrified as his electronic devices shattered into millions of pieces.

"Noooo my baby! Why would you do that!?"

Tony turned his horror-struck face to the archer, mouth agape and eyes wide with dismay. Clint just rolled his eyes, unimpressed by the engineer's morning.

"I don't want to be tracked. Now come on, we need to go!"

He grabbed his friend's wrist, pulling him towards the window that was their only escape. They arranged the various boxes around the room until they had a viable set of makeshift stairs. The archer climbed first, kicking out the window when he reached it. Their room must have been in the basement because the window led out to a back alley. Clint crawled out on to the street, and then turned to help Tony through. Once they were on both outside they booked it, trying to run as far away as possible before someone found the interrogator.

* * *

There we have it, Chapter Four! That got a kinda dark for a bit, but it can't all be giggles. I promise the next chapters will be mostly humor and adventure now that I've inserted the drama and foreboding I need for the rest of the plot.

Clint's Hungarian phrase translates to "Fuck off!" or "Go fuck yourself!" You can pick.

Thanks again to those who have followed, reviewed, and favorited this story. I'm glad you enjoy it so much.


	5. Chapter 5: Soap,Nail Polish,Bar Stools

Chapter 5: Soap, Nail Polish, and Bar Stools

"Have I ever told you how much I hate you Clint? Like legitimately, wholeheartedly hate you."

Tony's words echoed through the empty public bathroom he now found himself standing in. The brunette was hunched over a sink trying, as he had been for some time, to catch his breath. Clint was two sinks down, hands cupped under running water, splashing the cool liquid on to his face.

After escaping from their bakery prison, Clint's plan had been simple: run. Run and get as far away from their captors as possible. He had pulled Tony through the streets of Budapest, snaking through back alleys, weaving around buildings, only stopping when they reached a more populated area of the city. He had purposely chosen a convoluted, indirect path hoping it would prevent or at least delay any pursuers from finding them. Tony, while perfectly capable of running the distance they had, was anything but happy about being forced to. He had bitched and moaned the entire way, and didn't appear to be anywhere near the end of his rant.

"No one was following us Clint! We could have jogged here, or maybe speed walked. Maybe then my lungs wouldn't be burning up from the inside, along with most of my other organs," Tony grumbled from his sink.

The inventor looked tired, more so than Clint had ever seen him. Not even after spending a week pent up in his lab tinkering with no sleep, only coffee, had Tony looked as run down as he did now. _But,_ Clint supposed, _that's what you look like after being strapped to a chair for over twelve hours and beaten._

Tony's eyes though, big and brown as ever, were still glinting with passionate hatred. Whether it was directed towards himself or their not-so-successful kidnappers the archer was not sure, but at least Tony had something to keep him going.

"Or here's a novel idea!" Tony barked. "How about next time you take me somewhere, if I ever let you, don't take me to the central hangout of the Hungarian fucking Underground!"

"You're such a baby Stark," Clint retorted. "Don't you know how to have a little fun?"

"Fun? Did you just say fun? Barton, you messed up little prick." Stark raised from his hunched position over the sink, pivoting on his heels to face Clint. "Fun is sitting in a Jacuzzi surrounded by several well-endowed women wearing Iron Man themed bikinis. Fun is running around the house naked singing "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" while Pepper chases you, ranting on about the reporters scheduled to show up at any moment."

Tony was leaning against the sink now, his voice rising in both volume and pitch as he continued.

"Fun is forcing you and Bruce to remake the "Single Ladies" music video with me, which turned out fabulous by the way, Beyoncé loved it, but that is beside the point! There is no possible way that being tied to a chair and beaten could ever, ever be viewed as fun. Name one person Clint, one person, who would willingly do and enjoy that!"

The philanthropist finished his sentence, crossing his arms to emphasize his pout. He was clearly waiting for Clint to answer him. The archer complied immediately.

"Wade Wilson." Clint calmly replied, crossing his arms as well. He stared at Tony, watching the man open and close his mouth several times before finally responding.

"Ok fine. Wade would fricken' love that kinda crap, but that doesn't mean this isn't entirely your fault! Because it totally is."

"My fault!" Clint shouted back. "It was your Natasha impersonation that made them get violent! Never have I giggled imaginary boobs!"

"Or real boobs for that matter."

Silence fell between the two men after Tony's comment. Clint looked to his companion, eyes narrowed at the slight. Their eyes were locked together, Clint wearing his best scowl and Tony trying not to laugh at his own wit. The inventor was only able to hold his laughter in for a few seconds before it sputtered from his mouth in loud rolling bursts. Clint turned away, hiding the small smile now adorning his features.

"Just wash your face off Stark; you look like you've been through hell."

"I wonder why?"

Tony did not pursue his grumblings after that. He stood in silence, along with his partner, both diligently trying to clear their faces of any marks. Nearly all evidence hinting to the activities of their previous night were removed, but try as they might, they could not remove bruises with soapy water.

"This is going to be a problem," Clint mumbled to himself.

The archer poked and prodded his purple and red splotched face, thankful his visage had not swollen to ghastly proportions. As it stood, it was going to be hard enough to slip into a crowd unnoticed. Looking like they had just gotten attacked by a swarm of bees would have made things that much more difficult.

"Fuck. They're bound to be out looking for us now. We'll stand out like a sore thumb in public."

"Or rather, a sore face." Tony added. Clint did not appreciate the pun.

"This is serious Stark. How the hell are we going to hide these bruises?"

There was a brief silence in the men's room as they both thought. Tony tried to remember the street outside the bathroom. He had not seen much of it, before he had been shoved off the sidewalk, but he had a general idea of what was out there. The cobblestoned streets had been lined with people and tables, caf_é_s now bustling with the lunchtime rush. A few stores had been set up too, no doubt drawing a large portion of their customers from the restaurants. And tourists, there had been a lot of fanny packs out there as well.

"I think," Tony stated questioningly, just now remembering something he had seen "I saw a beauty salon outside."

The billionaire let the idea ride, waiting to hear the archer's response.

"No."

The answer was firm; Clint was clearly opposed to the idea. Naturally this made the plan perfect in Tony's eyes.

"Oh come on Hawk Boy! They could do a nice job covering up these bruises; maybe they offer massages that would be nice. Oh! They could fix my hair. It's a mess right now I can't be seen like this."

"No. I'm not going to get my hair done amongst a bunch of chattering women. Besides, unless we want a beer or need to insult someone, neither of us could speak to any of them."

Clint's arms were crossed against his chest as he shook his head in protest. Tony was in front of him, hands flying as he described the wonders of a trip to the salon.

"Can't speak to them, what nonsense! We're in a touristy area they might speak English, or Russian. Hungary is ex-Union, well ex-buffer state, somebody speaks Russian here."

"No Tony, we're not doing that."

"Can you think of anything better? Can you Barton? Hmmm?"

Clint opened his mouth, but could find no words to say. He honestly had no other plan to speak of. They could attempt to relieve some women of their concealer, but there were no guarantees they would find powder to match their skin tones. Plus his pickpocketing skills were a little rusty, and he didn't fancy the idea of getting caught stealing makeup from purses; or Tony laughing at him for getting caught.

"Cliiiiiiiiiint you know you want to. You know you really do."

"What I really want is a nap, on my couch, at home, away from this hellish vacation you forced me to take."

The statement was truthful, but said without any energy. Tony could see the archer's eyebrows unfurrow ever so slightly, his mouth filling back out as his thin-lipped grimace unwound. His resolve was breaking; Clint didn't want to go, but he wouldn't maim Tony for taking him there.

A smile once more adorned Stark's face. He chuckled heartily as he began to pseudo tap dance around the floor in front of the archer. His dance number came to an end with a grand twirl, and he laced his fingers around the marksmen's wrist.

"We should get out nails done! It's been so long since I went with Pepper. It is very relaxing and a little buffing and clear polish is good for anyone. Clean nails are sexy nails." Tony claimed as he made his way towards the door, Clint forced to walk in step behind him.

"No Tony. No, no, no, no, no!"

* * *

"Ooo, whatever they are doing is working wonders on my nails. Birdy, tell them they're doing a fabulous job would you?"

Clint observed the scene laid out in front of him with slight amusement, but mostly exasperation. Tony was the picture of ease, reclined in a massage chair hands spread to allow two nail technicians access to his fingertips, bare feet soaking in a pool of bubbly water awaiting their turn to be groomed. He moved barely a muscle when talking to Clint, elevating his head off the cushioned headrest mere centimeters to achieve eye contact.

"You're so damn weird Stark," Clint grumbled as he rolled his eyes at his ludicrous friend. Even so, he complied with Tony's request thanking the women before returning to his brooding.

He had indulged Tony (or at least that's what he was telling himself) and let the man drag him down the sidewalk. Just as the billionaire had said, there was a beauty salon down the street, wedged between numerous other shops. The large window at the front of the store was filled with displays, showcasing numerous beauty products. Four beauticians had been visible through the glass plane, all sitting idle save for one who was expertly cutting another woman's hair. The philanthropists, overjoyed that Clint could not shoot down his plan on the grounds of an empty shop, wasted no time in entering the shop.

Not that Clint would acknowledge it, but Tony had been right about something else as well: while no one in the shop spoke more than a few words of English, one woman spoke Russian and another German. Clint could easily communicate with both women, which only encouraged Tony to stay. It had only taken fifteen minutes to successfully cover their bruises; one to purchase the makeup, ten for the women to expertly apply it, and four for Tony to fuss over which skin tone to use.

Clint should have made the billionaire leave after that, he really should have, but he hadn't. He had delayed for one fatal moment, a span of time just long enough for Tony to spot the massage chair/pedicure stations. Stark had been dead set on getting a massage and figured he might as well get the whole package while he was at it; after all he was on vacation.

So Clint had been forced to sit in the salon for nearly an hour, watching Stark prove he was every bit the "full-tilt diva" he accused others of being, checking every face that passed by the window. The archer had long since switched to his mission mindset and did not enjoy sitting idle while on the run any more than a mouse enjoyed dangling over a cat's mouth. Every instinct he had, developed by years of training and real life experience, was screaming, commanding him to run. These commands were joined by another more troubling thought in his mind, one that grew louder with each passing second. A persistent thought telling him that yes, that purple nail polish on the shelf would go fantastically with his mission-suit.

He really needed to get out of here before he did something stupid.

"Tony, this has been real fun and all, but we need to leave."

Dark eyebrows raised in an incredulous manner, perfectly matching the tone of response.

"Clint please, my cuticles are a mess. I'm not going anywhere."

"Now you're just doing it to annoy me, you have to be," the archer muttered, hands pressed against his face sliding from chin to forehead. "Three days ago you were in your garage, covered in motor oil, shirt ripped and stained, body running on nothing but coffee and AC/DC. If you care so much why didn't you get a manicure then?"

"You'll never know Barton, you'll never know."

"Stark, you've got three seconds to get out of that chair before I pull you out."

"Now, now" Completely forgetting there was someone working on his nails, Tony lifted one hand to wag a finger at his companion. "Unknot your panties and pull them out of your ass Barton, you'll be much more comfortable that way."

Clint sneered at the self-satisfied grin that accompanied the billionaire's statement.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me the plan."

"What plan?"

"The plan," Tony answered simply. "The plan involving you telling me who employed the little asshole that messed up my face and what you intend to do about him. I know you know who he is, I saw the look on your face right before you head-butted the interrogator."

The inventor's tone of voice had changed. It was no longer the heavily sarcastic, light-hearted teasing tone, but something altogether more serious with a generous portion of stubborn. It was the tone of voice he used when telling off annoying reporters, or when someone on the Board of Directors from Stark Industries hinted that they'd like him to start redesigning weapons. It was the "I'm Tony Stark which means I do what I want so fuck off" tone.

"Fine you can get your nails done, brat."

Had his smile grown any larger, Stark's face would have split.

"I should hang out with you more often Legolas. You let me get away with a lot more crap than anyone else. Now spill, I want all the details."

"Where do you want me to start?" Clint responded with an eye roll.

"The beginning would probably be a good starting point."

Clint's voice affected a dreamy tone as he sarcastically began his explanation.

"Many years ago on the corn filled plains of Iowa-"

Clint just couldn't help himself. Was it his fault that he felt the pathological need to return the annoyance and sarcasm his partner had previously given him? No. Was it his fault that he slipped into and exaggerated his natural Midwestern accent when he noticed the philanthropist's eyebrows lower in irritation? Probably.

"A second child was born into the Barton family, a child destined for greatness."

Strangely, it made him happy speaking in the accent. It had been so long since he had. Working, or really living at SHIELD for so long had instilled in him an east coast phonetic pattern that had replaced his original lilt. Tony wasn't nearly as amused.

"Not your beginning!" Stark protested. "If I wanted to listen to that again I would re-read your file."

Clint was astounded.

"There are only two people with enough clearance to access my file Stark. How did you get your hands on it?"

The inventor interrupted his manicure once more, this time raising both hands to mime typing on an imaginary keyboard.

"I have my ways," he proclaimed. "I wanted to know every member on my- the team. You and Miss Thigh Choke were the only two I didn't receive any information on. Whether that's because you're two super spies or you weren't even supposed to be part of the initiative originally, I don't know."

"You read Nat's too?" Clint asked, choosing to ignore Tony's possessive slip of the tongue. He didn't feel like trying to figure out whether he meant my as in "I'm the leader/bankroll for the team" or my as in "You're all my play things." It was probably a little bit of both

"Well sorta. Most of the stuff in her file was so heavily encrypted it would have taken me hours to get to. I figured that was the secret stuff Nat only tells you, so I left it alone."

"Wow, that's surprisingly considerate of you…"

The two men paused, silently avoiding emotions as they tended to do. Until of course, Tony realized Clint had successfully redirected the conversation.

"You little shit! You know avoiding the conversation isn't going to get you out of here any faster. Just tell me what I want to know."

Clint chuckled and then actually started the conversation Tony wanted to hear.

"His name is Oland Karkov, a real nasty small time arms dealer. Before the invasion he floated just below SHIELD's radar; big enough to cause problems for local authorities, but too small to compare with most stuff SHIELD deals with on a regular basis. The most the Director ever did was assign junior agents to keep tabs on his operations."

Tony rose ever so slightly in his seat, sitting up to get a better view of the archer. He was obviously interested in there the story was going.

"He was always very good at organizing and covering his tracks. Any leak of information or talkative person was dealt with swiftly. Interpol hunted him for a few years and never found enough evidence to do anything. When Loki ran through my mind looking for suitable allies to help take down SHIELD, he recognized this. He became the main supplier for the pre-portal preparations. So naturally he is at the top of SHIELD's most wanted list, along with everyone else who helped."

"Ok," Tony nodded. "So what are we going to do?"

"Same thing I always do. Find him, and get rid of him." Clint spoke firmly. "I can't afford to wait any longer for exact orders from HQ and I don't have any time to waste dropping you off. You'll have to come with me."

"Sweet! Let's go then!"

Tony's voice was bristling with excitement. He was ever the fan of a good spy movie, or story, especially the few Clint had actually told him. Actually being part of one was an exciting prospect.

"Where do we go first Double-O-Raven?"

Clint stared at the man blankly, trying to interpret Stark's latest attempt at a clever nickname.

"Is that what it sounds like when you try to mix a James Bond reference mixed with a bird pun, because if so it sounded extremely lame and should never be repeated."

"Yeah," Tony inhaled slowly, sounding ever so slightly ashamed. "I've done better."

"Whatever." Clint returned to the mission at hand. "If we're going to do this, you have to promise me three things. You have to take this seriously, you need to listen and obey everything I say, and above all else you cannot be your normal idiotic, impulsive self. Understood?"

"Yeah, yeah understand."

Clint knew all too well that billionaire had distaste for following orders. A highly dangerous covert mission was no place for straying from plans and forging your own path. In Clint's experience disobeying orders had always led to injury and other bad things. There was one exception, but even that change in plan had led to injuries and spawned many more missions with more injuries. Clint needed Tony's sincere agreement, and stared down the man until he received it.

"First thing first. We go back to the bar and see what the bartender knows."

Tony did not look pleased with this aspect of the plan, but the woman crouched by Tony's feet interrupted any possible protests. She looked to Clint, knowing he could understand her.

"She wants to know what color you want your toenails Stark. Clear coat like your fingers?"

"Hmmm, no I want color." The inventor tapped his chin. "I'm thinking red. No, gold. No, red. No, both! What do you think Clinty dearest?"

Clint shook his head and watched as the inventor pointed his fully manicured hands at the wall of nail polish. The archer eyed the various shades on the wall, skipping over a certain color of interest, and verbalized Tony's request to the technician.

"I think you're way past eccentric and are now just crazy."

* * *

"I don't like this place any better in the morning."

The two men were once more standing in front of the infamous ale house. It was practically abandoned at half past noon, occupied by only one person other than the bartender. Tony stood before the building, much like he had the night before, face contorted in dislike. Clint wholeheartedly agreed with the billionaire. In the daylight the bar looked even more dilapidated, the crumbling structure now fully visible, chipped stone and rotten wood now in plain sight. But they needed more information than just the name of one man, and the bartender was the only solid lead they had.

"Ok interrogation roles," Clint finally spoke, choosing not to address Tony's comment. "I'll be the smooth, down to business, seasoned cop kinda guy. You get to be the man who brings up seemingly irrelevant things, but makes them threatening in a secretly batshit crazy serial killer kinda way."

Tony nodded.

"Steve Buscemi. Yeah I can do that."

"Let's try to keep this from getting physical, ok?"

They shared a nod, both ready to get started. Clint pushed through the front door for the second time in 24 hours. The small bell over the door tinkled, signaling their entrance. The bartender looked up from the counter, taking a break from wiping to inspect his new customers. He smiled brightly, ready to welcome the men until he recognized who they were. His lips lowered instantly as did his eyes, which gazed down upon the bar he was furiously wiping once more. He waited to see what Clint and Tony were going to do. Once they made a move towards the bar the older gentleman turned away from the room, intent on disappearing into the back room.

"Now, now," Clint chided. "Do you really want to take this somewhere private?"

With one hand the archer gestured around the bar, pointing out the few witnesses that would keep things from getting too rowdy. He quickly crossed the threshold, Tony in tow, making his way to the very bar stools they had perched upon before.

"I... I no speak English," the bartender replied weekly. He clearly wasn't nearly as comfortable with the situation as the superheroes were.

"I was humoring you last night, ordering in Hungarian. I think you do, and I think you have information we want."

"It's nice to see you found a replacement stool for the one I broke," Tony interrupted. "They really are nice stools." He ran his hand over the faux-leather cover if the unoccupied stool closest to him. "Do you think you would be able to find more if another managed to get smashed again?"

Clint had to keep himself from audibly groaning. He appreciated Tony's attempts to assist, but the man was anything but subtle. Too many B-list action movies he supposed. Thankfully the bartender was actually intimidated by their actions, rather than entertained.

"I don't know about men who came in here last night."

"Oh I never said anything about those men, but now that we're on the subject." Clint donned a rather nasty, sneer like grin. "You sure cleared outta here real fast when they came in. Are you sure you don't know anything, anything at all about what they do?"

Clint looked the man directly in the eyes, staring him down, waiting for him to crack. In the background Tony chattered on about the actual bar itself, the bartender's clothes, and how it would be a real shame if they ever got stained.

"Where do they hide? What are they planning?"

"I don't know, I really don't know! They always stopped talking when I came around and they never called their employer by name, only "the boss" or things like that."

The man was frantic.

"Did I ask you for their bosses name? Do I need to repeat my questions?" Clint's tone was menacing, a perfect match for his scrunched, shadowed expression.

"B-but..." The man swallowed, collecting his thoughts as best he could. "They did mention one name quite frequently. Alexi... Alexi Vontas I think. He's having a party soon, one they're invited too."

The man offered this information tentatively, clearly hoping it was what Clint wanted. It was, and the archer rewarded the man with a smile. He stood from the bar and walked towards the door, not wanting to spend any more time in the rundown establishment.

"Come on Tony, we have a party to crash."

* * *

Tada, Chapter Five! Thanks to anyone who's stuck with this story so for. I feel I should let you know that the rest is all planned out (like 99%) so it should update smoothly, provided I don't get distracted. All of your reviews, favorites, and follows are appreciated. I love you all.

Also Clint and Tony know Wade because of reasons.


	6. Chapter 6: Dress for Success

Chapter Six: Dressed for Success

Gravel crunched under the soles of leather shoes as the two heroes traversed an empty train yard. Their only light was the moon, which did little to make the abandoned yard seem hospitable. They could barely see the cars scattered around them, many covered in graffiti and most showing signs of rust. Every once in a while a train would pass by, drowning out their footsteps with clanking and whistles. The eeriness of the atmosphere was enough to stand their hairs on end.

Clint crouched behind the cars, getting as low to the ground as possible. He examined the area around his car, checking for anything lurking in the dark, before darting to the next car. He repeated this process, making his way deeper into the yard.

Tony followed the agent, but he didn't even attempt to be covert. He walked through the yard with his usual style of contempt and boredom, ignoring the hiding places Clint tried to usher him into. If his phone hadn't been smashed into a million pieces he probably would have been on it, surfing the web, playing games, or designing some new facet of his suit. Alas he was forced to content himself with making a game out of dodging puddles. The puddles were winning, much to the dismay of his socks.

"Tell me again what we're doing in this creepy-ass place," Tony barked as he dumped water from his shoe for the third time.

The archer stopped squirreling around the yard long enough to glance at his partner. He did not look pleased about the lack of effort he was putting into sneaking around.

"Get down!" he whispered harshly through clenched teeth.

Tony rolled his eyes and partially crouched next to Clint. His suit might already be ruined by his own blood, but he'd be damned before he got muddy knees.

"I thought we were going to a party."

"We are," Clint answered "but not before I stop and get some supplies."

"In a train yard…"

Clint looked to his friend, clearly loathing the fact he had to explain spy things to Tony. He was far too familiar to partners who knew what he knew, and asked few questions.

"Well it's not like there's a Wal-Mart anywhere near by."

"Hardy-har-har."

The archer directed his focus forward once more, moving to the next train car as he explained further.

"If we're lucky, there's a hidden supply cash inside one of these cars. We can stock up before we sneak around Vontas' party."

"Huh," Tony exhaled as he followed Clint. He decided not to roll across the ground. "It's not like SHIELD to just leave stuff lying around."

"SHIELD doesn't –aha! Looks like we were lucky."

"It would be the first time in days," Tony mumbled as he watched the archer scurry towards a train car. At first glance it didn't look like anything special to the philanthropist, just another rusty car that probably hadn't been moved for some time. He was proved wrong when Clint lifted a metal flap on the side. Beneath the panel was a touch screen interface covered in several numbers and a scanning panel. Clint punched in a code, scanned his fingerprint, and then leaned down for a retinal scan.

There was a chirpy ding and then the container's door slid open to reveal a newer metallic door. It too opened after a second, granting them access to the inside. Clint jumped in first, extending a hand to Tony once he was sure of his footing. Once they took a few steps inward the doors closed, leaving them in complete darkness. Lights immediately kicked on, flooding the room and practically blinding the unprepared engineer.

After some intense blinking Tony's eyes adjusted and he could see what was around him. Each wall of the vessel was made of the same metal as the second door. On either side of him were large doors, leading to what Tony assumed were storage rooms. Bins and cupboards made a ring around the ceiling and floor, like trim on a wall. Directly in front of them were two large screens, one handing on the wall and the other propped upon four legs. Clint approached the lower screen, tapping his fingers across the surface until a large keyboard appeared. The hanging screen flickered to life, displaying Clint's work as he sifted through navigation box after navigation box. Tony tried to follow the process, but it was unlike any SHIELD interface he had ever seen and he wasn't even going to compare it to his personal systems.

After a minute Clint's fingers stopped moving and he looked to the screen. A computerized female voice emitted from the speakers attached to the side.

"_Voice command requested_."

"Agent William Brandt, activate Protocol Uranus. Number of agents, two."

The archer's command was quickly accepted. Clicks reverberated around the rooms as locks on containers released. Select drawers slid open, containing what Clint had come here for.

"_Do you require any masks_?"

Clint smiled at the computer's question before tapping a few more buttons and shutting it off. When he turned back to his companion he was met with Tony's best skeptical look to date.

"Who is William Brandt?"

"An analyst." Clint responded simply.

"With access to-" Tony paused as a side panel on the wall slid upwards to reveal a rotating selection of weapons. "Lots and lots of guns. Not a single arrow though."

Tony took a step back to glance at the spinning rack of doom, casually rotating it with his right hand.

"William doesn't use arrows." Clint said with evident distaste.

He walked over to the panels, closing it before Tony could touch anything. With his luck he'd find the one gun that didn't have its safety on. Clint moved to another storage bin, taking out two ear pieces. He handed one to Stark as he placed the second in his own ear.

"These aren't standard issue SHIELD tech." Tony stated as he examined the small electronic device. "It would be way too easy to piggyback these guy's frequencies and frick stuff up."

"Funny you should mention that."  
"Who made these?"

Clint strode to the other end of the room, opening a door into another lighted room filled with clothing racks.

"There's plenty of clothes in there."

The SHIELD agent clearly did not wish to expand on the subject.

"We're similarly sized, so they should fit. Remember we have somewhere to go, so dress for success."

He turned back to the numerous drawers in the room, searching for anything and everything they might need.

"Dress for success? What are you Barton, some lame motivational pamphlet?"

Clint donned another smirk.

"Suit up Stark."

* * *

A gleaming building stood in front of the two men. Its glass surface glittered with lights, both within and out, announcing the party to all who could see. A constant stream of cars ran by the front door, emptying their passengers onto the sidewalk full of party goers. Some cars drove away, chauffeurs going to wait for their passengers elsewhere, while others were handed over to valets to be parked out back.

"Mine's bigger." Tony proclaimed, diverting his attention away from the building.

There were walking up the carpeted walkway, having slipped in with a group that had just exited a limo.

"You trying to compensate for something?" Clint asked, humor lacing his tone.

"Shut up."

"I mean giant tower, expensive clothes, fast cars, Iron Man suit; all signs of discontent."

"I said shut up." The genius repeated, elbowing his partner in the side none too gently. His only response was a deep chuckle from the blond.

"Look sharp." Clint finally muttered as they reached the doors.

Four men stood, two on either side, checking the arrivals against some list. Many were obviously frequent guests, these people the guards knew by face, but others they halted. A guest had yet to be turned away though. Eventually their names and faces were found on the list and the gleaming doors were opened. They would be the first, if Clint's plan failed.

He was sure it wasn't. Clint had expected the check at the door, after all an arms dealer didn't let just _anyone_ walk into his house. He was prepared, plan in mind, well not really a plan per say. But he completely trusted his ability to blend in and Tony's reputation as a party crasher.

When they reached the door they stopped and waited while the security personnel checked the list. As predicted, they were pulled aside when their names were found lacking from the sheet. The taller of the two men double checked the list, while the other glared at the two Avengers.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" he grunted at Tony.

"You probably do." The billionaire beamed. After all these years, he still loved it when people recognized him.

"Well they're not listed with the guests."

The man with the clipboard nodded to his companion, who stepped forward to usher Clint and Tony away. Before he took another step, Tony held out his hand to stop the man. He reached inside jacket and retrieved a generous amount of cash which he handed to the bouncer. The man got the hint, and stepped back to his previous position. Clint and Tony moved towards the door, but were stopped again by the second man. The list guy placed his hand on Tony's shoulder and spun him back around to face him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Tony looked taken aback – no doubt more shocked that someone dared to touch him, rather than with the obvious demand for money – before a bright smile spread across his face.

"How did that slip my notice," he stated, reaching back into his jacket. "I didn't know you were a fan big guy."

Stark's hand emerged from his pocket, this time holding a simple sheet of paper rather than several green slips. He flipped it over, revealing that is was in fact a sheet of Iron Man stickers. He peeled off an image of himself, faceplate raised, shooting some unseen target in the distance with his gauntlet repulsor, and stuck it to the man's cheek.

"There you go."

Patting the cheek once, Tony sauntered off. Clint stood next to the confused guard, blatantly laughing at the man's opened mouthed expression. After a moment the archer moved on. He lengthened his strides, catching up to the genius within a few steps, smile still present on his lips.

"You're kind of a huge asshole Stark, you know that?"

"I pride myself in being that one ass that everyone loves, or you know, utterly hates." Stark responded, glee evident in his voice. "You have to admit that sticker gag was golden."

"More childish than anything, really."  
"It got us in didn't it?"

Tony looked to Clint, eyebrows raised, waiting for recognition of his success.

"Yeah," Clint begrudgingly admitted. "Yeah I guess it did."

The billionaire raised his right hand, fingers fisted, knuckles facing the archer. Clint stared at it a moment before sighing and accepting the bro-fist invitation.

"Why do you even have those stickers?"

"I always have them on hand, just in case."

"Emergency stickers, because that's a top priority." Clint muttered under his breath. "Now let's get to work."

By now their conversation had carried them into the lobby. There was a small bustle of people formed around three elevator doors. The sliding metal surfaces would open every few minutes and red-hatted elevator men ushered in throngs of guests. The two men stepped in line, starting small talk with those around them to better acclimate.

Their turn to ride the elevators came shortly. They could clearly see the environment inside the small room now that they were so close. All four sides of the square room were made of metal, polished so thoroughly they could see their own contorted reflections in the surface.

"Gold platted walls," Tony mused. He examined the walls closer as he shuffled in. "No… bronze. Kickin' it Eagle's Nest style I see. Very ominous, not to mention pretentious."

"I thought you were the tech guy, not the history buff."

Clint twisted his neck to get a better view of the man standing next to him.

"I am a genius; I have more than enough room in here," Tony tapped his temple "for anything I want to fill it with."  
"Yeah, but why bother remembering what Hitler's elevator was made of? Why not something useful like, I don't know, your complete social security number?"

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Every once in a while when he wasn't too busy to remember that he actually had a kid, my father would tell me stories. The Second World War always fascinated me, so I researched anything and everything I could in my spare time. Technology, troop movements, propaganda, and especially Capt-"

Tony abruptly stopped talking and became immensely interested in the walls again. Clint began to snicker, but left the admission alone. The billionaire had enough undisclosed insecurities without someone making fun of his past - and most likely still ongoing - secret admiration for the super soldier.

"Not a _fucking _word to Steve, not a word."

The engineer's frown was tight lipped. He didn't look like he would be willingly saying anything for a while. Eventually the red-hatted man deemed the elevator was full and pressed the button was for the third floor. Vibrations ran through the room followed by a quick jolt as it began to move upward.

"My elevator is so smooth you can't even tell it's moving," Tony whispered. Apparently pointing out how he had better thing was a good enough reason to break his vow of silence.

"Do you do this every time you go to another rich person's house?"  
"Pretty much."  
"I'm beginning to see why Pepper travels separately." Clint exhaled.

With a slight jolt the elevator came to a stop, effectively ending their conversation. The golden doors slid open to reveal a sparkling room of creams and gold. Soft white walls surrounded the guests weaving in between round mahogany tables draped in silky cloth. Sharply dressed men flitted around the ballroom, courting brightly dressed women and fetching drinks from the bar on the opposite side of the room. Clint's eyes traveled upwards along the Grecian columns running along the edges of the room. They supported the balconies constituting for the second floor of the open ceilinged room. _Perfect_ he thought to himself.

A roaming waiter passed by carrying a tray of champagne glasses. Clint removed a glass from the tray, nodding his thanks to the aproned man while he grasped Tony's forearm with his empty hand. He pulled the billionaire to the side of the room away from the general crowd.

"We should split up," Clint declared.

The archer took a sip from his glass and immediately decided he wasn't very fond of the bubbly liquid. He tried to offer the glass to Tony, but the brunette only raised his hands in protest.

"I have this thing about people handing me things."

"Oh not this shit again. It's free booze Stark, take it."

Clint thrust the glass into the engineer's raised hands, forcing them to grip the crystal stem.

"As I was saying," Clint continued, "We should split up. You search the ground level. Try not to attract too much attention and don't you even _think_ about getting drunk."

Tony was about to roll his eyes until he noticed the glass in his hand was already empty. He handed it to a waiter collecting empty champagne flutes and declined the offer of another drink.

"I suppose you'll be climbing upwards?" he asked, not even acknowledging the reprimanding looks being sent his way.

"Someone's got to keep track of this circus."

Clint offered his teammate a head nod and stepped out into the crowd. Tony blinked and then he was gone, blending in flawlessly with the crowd. It was times like these that reminded the billionaire just how freakily good Clint was at his job. He too eventually stepped out into the crowd, moving between the various groups that had formed around the room. He tried his best to remember everything he could from what James Bond movies he had seen as he mingled with the public. He silently compiled a list of spy things in his head, skipping over ordering a martini and flirting with women and instead opting for turning on his comm link. He and Barton would need a means of communication now that they were separated.

"Red Ranger to Hawkboy, do you copy?"

There was momentary radio silence before Tony received a reply.

"_You sir, are no Red Ranger_."

Tony picked up another glass from a tray. He brought the rim to his mouth, feigning drinking to hide his talking and avoid suspicion.

"And why not?"

"_Saying you are the Red Ranger would imply that you are the leader of this operation and generally useful, both of which you are not. If anything I should be Red Ranger."_

The billionaire scoffed at the unseen archer.

"Well then what the hell am I?"

"_One of the god awful villains the Rangers fight that spend hours talking about themselves and their crappy plans._"

"I strongly disagree-  
Tony stopped talking when two women approached him. They were young, pretty, and fishing for compliments. Luckily they both spoke French (one of the foreign languages he did know) so he could appease them quickly. After a minute or two they moved on, allowing Tony to resume his conversation with Clint.

"Speaking of crappy plans, I don't even know what this Vontas guy looks like."

"_Decently tall, around six feet tall give or take a few inches. Athletic build, narrow hips, slanted shoulders, beady little eyes, shoulder length blond hair, and a nasty scar on his right cheek_."

An involuntary shiver ran down the genius' spine as Clint finished his description. The marksman's tone had changed ever so slightly at the mention of the scar. It had lost all humor and donned a dark pride. Tony just knew he was making the scary face again, the one with the lecherous half grin and the glint in his eye that just screamed "I'm going to take immense pleasure in shooting you." It was the face reserved for those special few on Barton's deep shit list.

"What the hell did you do to that man?"

"_It wasn't even that bad Tony, the arrow barely grazed his cheek. Nat's the one who really did a number on him_."

Clint said this in far too relaxed a tone for Tony to be comfortable.

"_I guarantee he won't ever think about delving into human trafficking again and just stick to arms and espionage_."

"Because that's really a commendable career," Tony quipped.

"_SHIELD runs his business more than he does_."

Unable to find anyone more attractive (or so he liked to think) the two women had circled back to his position. Tony didn't really feel like talking to them, so he ducked behind a group of pillars as Clint continued to explain.

"_He only gets the secrets we let him have, and tracking his arms deals means we know who is buying_."

"Yeah, but the first bad still makes money off of it."

"_It wasn't that long ago I was saying the same about you_."

Stark paused.

"… Fuck you Barton."

"_I'm in position_."

Tony stopped once more before responding.

"Was that another innuendo or-"

"_No ass_," Clint barked. "_I'm actually in position on the balcony. Unlike some of us, I've been ignoring scantily clad women and actually doing my job._"

Tony chuckled to himself.

"Serious face time."

It was time to find the rickety elevator owning European, or rather wait until Clint found him. The genius was one hundred and thirty-seven point eighty-three percent sure the archer would find Vontas first, regardless of how hard he worked. After all Clint wasn't just an archer, he was a sniper despite his _Paleolithic_ weapon of choice. Finding targets was his thing, almost second nature after so many years of practice. Tony didn't have to wait long to be proven right. Five minutes barely passed before Clint was calling out positions.

"_Vontas is by the bar. Two, no three guards hovering, most likely armed_."

"Well that's great what do we do now?"

Tony moved from his spot and moved towards the bar. He found a place to observe the area and quickly found the man matching the description Clint had given. The watered-down-evil blond was leaning against his bar chatting with the guests around him. Tony snatched a recently vacated bar stool at the end of the bar and ordered a scotch.

"_Well normally I would ask Nat to strut around and lay on the accent, but you know that's not going happen_."

"One would think a trained field agent would have more than one play…"

Tony drifted off as he watched Vontas turn away from his conversation. He followed the arms dealer's line of sight and found himself staring at the rear of a man not too far from the bar. The man moved away and Vontas' gaze returned to his conversation partner.

"We might not need Natasha."

Tony continued to watch the dealer, watching as a new group of guests approached Vontas. The blond steadfastly ignored the stunning woman trying to catch his attention, but smiled brightly and placed a tender hand on the man who accompanied her.

"You seeing what I'm seeing Hawk?"

"_Yep_," Clint replied simply. "_Get to seducing ground force."_

Tony laughed again. He stood and left the bar, mildly self-conscious of talking he was doing. He hoped people would assume he had a Bluetooth if they saw him chatting away to himself.

"Nuh uh Birdy, this one's all you."

"_You're closest!"_

"There is not a single person in the arms business who doesn't know my face," Tony chided. "My cover would be blown the moment he recognized me without all the metal and camera flashes."

He watched another man, this one clearly trying to pull off the 40's look Steve had inadvertently brought back into style, walk by and gain Vontas' approval.

"Besides, he seems to prefer blonds."

* * *

Clint was alone in the restroom attached to the ballroom, looking himself over in the mirror. A few cuts from his interrogation were showing through the faded salon work, but other than nothing about his face was horribly conspicuous. He brushed his suit coat off and smiled to himself as he adjusted his bowtie. The smile quickly vanished as he realized how obsessed with the accessory he had recently become. Internally he cursed Bruce for creating his own BBC marathons in the tower common room.

A few seconds more of pruning and then he left the bathroom, notifying Tony over the comm before he re-entered the ballroom. The billionaire was easy enough to spot, now standing in his previous position on the balcony above. Vontas was even easier to find. The bar was only a few feet from the restrooms (most likely on purpose) and his target was still in plain sight. He waited patiently for the crowd around the man to disperse, making his move only when Vontas was alone.

He avoided the direct route to the dealer. Clint wove in and out of the crowd, striking up casual conversations with several guests before settling with the group to the right of his target. He made up some ridiculous story about a sailboat he didn't even own which completely enticed the couple. The archer didn't fail to notice the looks he received from Vontas either. Clint adjusted his temperament, making sure he was all smiles and charm, beaming at even the smallest of jokes. Another couple sitting at a table near the center of the room beckoned to Clint's newfound friends and he urged them to go. Once he was alone he turned to lean on the bar, angling his waist until he could feel his pants tighten around his butt cheeks. Tony whistled on the other end of the comm.

"_Damn, what is it with assassins and nice asses. How hard do you and Spider Chick work your glutes?_"

Clint couldn't help but grin at the strange compliment.

"Brandy two fingers neat, please."

"Please, make that two Enrique," a voice sounded from Clint's left.

From the corner of his eye the archer could make out the grinning face of Alexi, now leaning against the bar in a similar manner to his.

"_Target has taken the bait_," Tony chattered in his ear. "_Seriously, the whole order the same drink shtick? Laaaame_."

Clint ignored the banter and looked to the man on his left.

"Some party huh?" he stated "I'm not sure who this Vontas guy is, but he knows how to impress his guests."

Clint shifted his body, propping his right side on the bar. He was facing Vontas full on now.

"Very impressive," he waved, sipping his brandy.

Vontas smiled, stepping closer to Clint.

"You don't know the man? This is a very exclusive party, how did you manage to get in?"

"Barney brought me as his plus one."

The archer motioned to the table closest to the bar. A middle aged man sat there, very engaged with the green eyed brunette seated across from him.

"I ran into him at the airport today, first time I've seen him in a year. I wanted to take him for drinks, but he insisted he couldn't turn down this invitation. I can see why now."

He and Vontas had a clear view of "Barney" and his romantic exploits. When the man reached for his companion's hands Clint scoffed, swirling his drink in mock disgust.

"Takes me to a party to catch up and he runs off seducing women," Clint took a sip from his drink. "Typical Barney."

The two men shared a laugh.

"_The way you have him eating up the bullshit spewing from your mouth is simply amazing."_

Tony's comments were once more ignored.

"I'm sure you could manage to find some company if you are truly lonely."

Vontas practically purred his sentence. He signaled to the bartender, ordering another round of Brandy now that their glasses were empty.

"I kind of thought I already had," Clint whispered with a mischievous grin.

Vontas' eyes flashed with excitement, his grin ear to ear when Clint extended his hand.

"John Bateman, and you?"

Clint shook his hand and awaited the name drop he knew Vontas' ego craved so much.

"Alexi Vontas. Nice to meet you John."

He met the arms dealer's prideful grin with the appropriate amount of surprise, then settled his mouth into a flirty smirk.

"You have a very nice house Alexi."

"Well if you're that infatuated," Vontas leaned closer until their shoulders brushed against each other "I could always arrange for you to see more."

"Don't you have guests to attend to?"

"Ehhh."

Vontas waved dissmissedly towards the crowd of party goers.

"Most of these people are only here for the open bar."

"Aren't they always?" Clint chuckled.

Vontas set his tumbler down on the bar. He stood from his stool and gestured towards the elevator.

"Right this way Mister Bateman."

The dealer left the bar, slinking through the crowd towards his golden elevator. Clint took that as a signal to follow, and went after him. If he played his part right, Vontas' tour should lead him to a private section of the building.

"_He's telling his guards to back off. Clint Barton you little minx!"_

Tony was nearly dying from laughter on the other end of the mic. Looking upwards, Clint saw the smile that matched the chuckles.

"_Twenty minutes is all it took to get the man to lead you to his bed."_

"I was trained by the best. You should have seen Coulson in his prime, that man knew how to turn heads."

"_Agent taught you how to be sexy? Bullshit."_

"I'm telling the truth. You can ask him for lessons when we get back."

Clint traversed the entirety of the ballroom in a matter of minutes. Rushed steps caught him up the arms dealer just as he reached the three step flight of stairs that led to the elevator door.

"_I'll follow through once you know where you're going." _Tony chirped.

The two blondes stepped into the golden room in tandem. The elevator man promptly shut the doors after a nod from Vontas. The lift sprung to life, lowering them and reopening at the lobby.

"This elevator only leads to the public floors," Vontas explained. "My private elevator is on the other side of the lobby."

"Makes sense."

Clint followed him across the floor. The private elevator was neatly hidden on the opposite side of the lobby, just as Vontas had said. It was tucked behind corner wall, making it invisible from the front door. When they were safely tucked behind the dividing wall, Alexi reached into his suit pocket, pulling out a small plastic card. He slid it through a card scanner mounted on the wall besides the lift. The doors opened after a moment, revealing and interior considerably less flashy than the public elevator. Clint stepped into the compartment as Vontas pressed the fifth floor button.

"I thought we'd start with the recreational floor first."

"Sounds like a fine idea."

Clint shot the man a flirty smile. He was given an equally coy grin in response.

The fifth floor was indeed built for entertainment. It was a wide open space, sectioned off into numerous smaller areas. From the entryway Clint could see a large television surrounded by stadium style couches, another bar – smaller than the one in the ballroom – and an expensive looking pool table.

"Excuse me for a moment." Vontas called as he crossed the room. "I'm going to get out of this monkey suit. Feel free to make yourself more comfortable."

In the far right, just after an opening to another hallway, was a clear glass stairwell. It climbed the walls of the room, leading to what Clint assumed was the master bedroom. Alexi clamored up the staircase, loosening his tie as he walked. As soon as the arms dealer left the room, Clint was on him headset.

"Tony, get back to the lobby and find Vontas' private elevator. We're on the fifth floor. You'll need to bypass his security, but that shouldn't be too hard for you."

"_Roger that."_

Once that was finished, Clint removed his own tie. He let out a sigh of relief once its tight grip released its hold on his neck. With similar joy he slipped out of his suit coat, throwing it haphazardly towards the stadium seats. Being more of a t-shirt man himself, Clint was always happy when he had an excuse to get out of suits.

Vontas came back down the stairs as soon as Clint's coat hit the cushions of the couch. He made his way towards the bar, now sporting a ridiculously cliché Hugh Hefner style smoking jacket. Once he reached the gleaming mahogany counter, he began to fashion two drinks.

"I don't know if you're fond of billiards, but we could play a game if you like. I also have a substantial movie collection you could browse, or if you prefer the classic arts, several paintings in the hall to your right."

Vontas brought the drinks over, brandy two fingers neat just as before, and handed one to Clint. The blond assassins graciously accepted the drink, but did not consume the beverage. He could already feel the effects of his earlier drinks setting in; it was in his best interest to pass on this round of brandy. Instead he listened to the chatter coming from Tony's end of the comm system.

"_Holy frick, Clint these French girls just won't leave me alone. Ok they're gone, great."_

"So long as it's not modern art, I just don't understand the significance of dots and squiggles," Clint grinned over the rim of his glass.

Vontas chuckled and turned back to the bar. His glass needed a refill.

_"That security was laughably pathetic. I'll be on your floor in a second."  
_ "Fantastic." Clint whispered.

He walked to the bar, standing directly in front of Vontas on the opposite side of the wood.

"Although I'm sure your collection is in as good of taste as the rest of your possessions, I don't know as if I want to look at art tonight."

Clint set his glass down on the surface of the bar, and leaned against the structure. His ran his fingers across the glossy top, tracing twirling patterns as he longingly gazed into Alexi's eyes.

"Well then what do you want to do?"

It was a loaded question, of course. Clint didn't give the man the instant gratification he knew Alexi desired, instead answered the man with silence and a teasing smile.

"You know, the view from this floor is spectacular."

Clint spoke in a low, rolling voice. He coaxed a seductive smile onto his face, beckoning to Vontas to come out from behind the bar. The man got the hint. He abandoned his drink, setting the glass onto the counter as he returned to Clint. Trying not to think too much, Clint slipped his arm into the crook of his companion's. They strode over to the windows looking out onto the glittering city. Vontas slipped arm around Clint's waist, pulling him closer until they were pressed closer together than Clint had ever wanted. The scarred blond ran his fingers around Clint's back, just as the archer had done on the bar.

"It's so alive," the archer exclaimed, "so… stimulating."

That drove Vontas over the edge. He jerked Clint towards him, fully embracing the archer and pressing them together chest to chest.

"My thoughts exactly."

Clint bit back the noises of disgust bubbling in his throat as Vontas lowered his mouth to the archer's neck. It took all the will he had not to squirm when Alexi began to kiss every inch of skin within his reach.

_"Clint, I don't like those sounds I'm hearing. I'm on your floor, heading into the room as we speak."_

"Please hurry."

Unfortunately, Vontas took that as his cue to move things along. He reached up to the buttons of Clint's shirt, undoing the first two before Clint could stop him. His hands flew to his collar faster than they had ever moved before. They latched on to Vontas' hands, pulling them away from his chest.

"Wait, are we alone."

"Of course," Vontas' huskily panted. "No one will ever know about this."

Clint watched over the arms dealer's shoulder as the door on the far side of the room opened. Tony stood in the entryway, his expression a mixture of shock and amusement. The look Clint gave him was anything but friendly.

"Perfect."

He dipped his shoulder down, and forced it into Vontas' chest. With a quick jerk of the hands still in his grasp, he pulled the arms dealer over his shoulder. The man flipped upside down, landing with a thud behind Clint. A second later, the archer had him kneeling with his arms twisted behind his back.

"That will be enough of that."

The archer felt a presence near his side. He turned his head to find Tony, now on their side of the room, holding back a fit of laughter.

"So, does Nat know about your-"

"Tony id you breath a fucking word of this outside of this room," Clint barked, "I will tell Steve everything."

* * *

**And there we go!**

**I'm so super sorry this came pretty late. I've had some issues lately with school and family. Good news though, I am officially done with school and have the whole summer at my disposal. Updates should come more frequently.**

**As always, any feedback you give me is appreciated. Your satisfaction is what drives me to write!**


End file.
